Birthday Present
by: Vickie Tern and Rhonda Wagram © 1996

 

 

Chapter Eight: Bea's Weekend
(in which his wife tells our heroine what she's done)

The women arrived around four o'clock, bubbling over with excitement. Pearl was anxious to get home, so they just helped Bea carry her bags into the house, and then left. Bea greeted me as if we hadn't seen each other for ages, and kissed me deeply. She tasted funny. Was it another man's cum lingering in her mouth? Or had she eaten something strange? She wasn't the least bit surprised to find me in handcuffs. "Come into my bedroom" She said, "I have so much to tell you." She literally dragged me upstairs.

"Bea, would you release me now, please?" I asked her as she sat me down in her overstuffed divan chair and sat down on her bed.

"No, sweetheart, not now. Didn't Steve explain it to you? I want to tell you all about the different men who fucked me, and how they felt when they held me with their cocks stuffed deep into me, and how they moved inside me, and what I did to them. And I want you to feel absolutely helpless while I tell you. I want to make you feel as jealous of me as you can be! I want you to positively twist and writhe."

"Not jealous because they fucked me, my darling, dearest girlfriend. Not jealous because you're my husband, and husbands think they own their wives. Not at all! You know we're in a new kind of relationship now, don't you, and you've accepted it with pleasure, haven't you? We've both had our lovers over this past weekend, haven't we?"

And she gave me such a dazzling conspiratorial smile that I had to smile back at her, and my rear end squeezed tight onto my butt plug as my mind recalled the ways Steve had used me.

"No, I want you to feel jealous because I had so many more lovers than you did, and you didn't get to fuck them too. Are those handcuffs comfortable? Good! Those men were such wonderful lovers, my dear, and each one so very different. All of them with much bigger cocks than yours, darling, and much more stamina, and they made love so much more imaginatively than you ever did when you were still a man. Are you wearing one of those butt plugs right now that's bigger than your own cock? I told Steve I wanted you to finish the weekend with a really large one tucked into you. That's nice. Steve is bigger than you are, as I'm sure you know, but it's especially nice that right now you're stuffed in back with much bigger equipment than you've got dangling in front. It lets you know what you're good for."

She looked over at me smugly, visibly pleased with herself. "I've given you such a wonderful gift, darling! Aren't you happy that your modest endowment doesn't matter any more, that for you from now on, a man with a bigger cock is not a rival but a potential lover, someone who can satisfy your sexual needs when you submit your body to him? And I've been thinking of you the whole time! I even made sure to suck off each one of my lovers, so I could teach you the different techniques that seem to work best with different size pricks. You can never tell when you'll need to know things like that, can you, my dear sweet little husband-girl. Oh, it's so good to be back with you again! You look so pretty! You'll have to tell me all about your weekend. But first I want to tell you about mine."

She kicked off her shoes and lay back on the bed, staring dreamily up at the ceiling. "I met my first man even before we pulled up to the main building to check in. He was down the hill by the main gate, talking with a caretaker who lived in the gate house, and as our car stopped to be checked in he winked at us, three good-looking women obviously looking forward to a few days of fun. He was pretty good-looking himself, with a chestful of curly blonde hair, and tight shorts, and all over he was gleaming with sweat. I guess he'd been out jogging. Kay and Pearl looked at each other, and then at me, and Pearl said, 'Bea honey, this one's for you. We've both caught lots of fish, but you're new at it. No time like the present! We'll check you into your room and get your baggage stowed.'"

"Well, I had a plan figured out even before I finished getting out of the car. Pearl pulled away, and I walked over to the caretaker as if the jogger didn't exist."

"'Can I help you, ma'am?' he asked me."

"'Yes, you can,' I said. 'Have any really terrific studs checked in yet this weekend? I don't like wasting my time with second raters.' And I glance at my gleaming blonde, my fish, and then I give the caretaker a big smile. 'You know what I mean.' Then I glance again at my blonde fish, and sure enough, he's already wriggling, trying to edge into the conversation. So I coolly turn my shoulder away from him, and add, 'Are there any regulars up yet, men who expect to stay up for the weekend and who come often?' I placed my hand on the caretaker's arm and leaned into his face, still smiling. He looked a little uncomfortable."

"Well, I'd read that only the bellhops and the waitresses were allowed to service hotel guests, and only if asked to do it directly and unambiguously. They're specially trained for it, and medically tested regularly. All the other staff are strictly forbidden. So I knew the caretaker was no problem for me. Anyhow, he had a big beer belly that hung way down over his cock. I'll want to try out a man like that some day, to see if his weight gives a little extra heft to his moves when he's inside me. But not yet."

"By now, Mr. Jogger is in trouble. Did I mention that his shorts were tight? Well, he's got a boner you wouldn't believe. Even I didn't believe it. Another glance over at him, as if he's bothering the two of us and I want him to go away, and this time I notice his huge bulge. In fact the whole head of his cock has poked above his belt-line. It's a huge purple dome the size of an apple, and his T shirt doesn't even begin to conceal it. Now that's really flattering to a girl, you know? I began to get really wet down under, you know? I mean, I knew I'd have to stop teasing him, or I'd start dripping and splashing all over the floor!"

"Well, golden boy comes to the rescue. 'Ma'am,' he says a little timidly. 'This is my first time here, but maybe I can show you the way.'"

"I looked him over, the way Mae West used to look over her next piece of meat, from head to foot and back again, then down to his crotch, then up into his face. 'Maybe,' I said, and I reached for that huge knob sticking above his pants, and I pulled it toward me like a gear shift lever. 'C'mon, let's see.' And I led him away up hill a little distance and into the woods, the same way I'd lead a dog on a short leash. In fact later that weekend we had dinner together -- I ate dinner while he crawled under the table and ate me -- and I suggested that he get a cock ring installed for clipping on a dog leash, so it would be easier to lead him around by his prick. He said his girlfriend back home meant to do just that with him. She wanted to take him to concerts and dinners by a leash sticking out of his fly, so she could tug on him to make him keep up with her. After his session with me, he said, he had decided to let her do it."

"Well, it turned out he was as submissive as you are, dear, but much better trained,. When we got to a secluded part of the woods I let go of his cock and turned, and just stood there looking at him, to see what he'd do. Immediately he dropped to his knees, and lowered his head. So I just spread my feet apart, and put my hands on my hips, and thrust my pelvis at him, and asked who had taught him to do that. He told me it was his girlfriend. I asked how his girlfriend felt about his servicing other women. He said she was angry with him, and had ordered him to please as many women as he could during this weekend, to learn to respect them better. Then he lifted his face and leaned way back, and I stepped forward a little, and straddled his head, and there we were. He's on his knees facing straight up, and I'm straddling his face, looking down into his eyes. He started to suck on my snatch, his tongue working into me as if it were the strongest and longest muscle in his body, his eyes looking straight up into mine the whole time, imploring my approval, as if every moment he was worried I might not be pleased with him. When he found my clit and diddled it with his tongue, I came, and I suppose I did gush real fluids into his mouth, because he was making loud slurping noises all through the next two times I came. Later on, when we were walking back to the hotel, he told me that his girlfriend loved to have him drink up her pee mixed in with her cum juices, and he wondered why I hadn't honored him the same way, by pissing into his mouth. I told him if I meant to use anyone as a toilet it would be my husband. You see, darling, I was thinking of you the whole time."

"Anyhow, after a while I took pity on him, though I'm sure that tongue of his could have gone on and on. I gestured that he should lie on his back, and he did, and lower his shorts, and he did, and I tried to lower myself onto that huge purple knob. Well! It was almost embarrassing! If it hadn't been for Bob, a week or so ago, when the girls gave him to me as my birthday treat, you remember, the same night I gave you Steve, you remember I'm sure, well, if it weren't for Bob I'd never have fit. Your prick certainly never prepared me for anything like this!"

"I was wet enough, and I sat down on him very carefully, and I pushed myself onto him very slowly, but even so I could take him only an inch at a time, and then I had to pause to stretch out. A few times I feared I'd split wide open. It was like having a baby, I imagine, only in reverse. He wasn't very long, or I really might have split wide open, but he had the thickest cock I saw during the whole weekend. When he was altogether inside me, I felt the way a female dog does when the male's knob has swelled up in her and he can't withdraw, you know? I couldn't move. But it didn't matter, because he thrust at me a few times and came, and then with his cum oozing all over both of us we both came again. I think he had three orgasms, and I never stopped having one after another, wave after wave, for the whole hour we were welded together. And all with me scarcely moving!"

"You know, dear, when you were Henry, you didn't even begin to measure up to that man. It's as if you were a different species. That little prick of yours could diddle me all right, and sometimes bring me off, and I love having it around, and I mean to use it from time to time, but trust me, dear, you're much better off being a woman. You've made the right decision."

I started to protest that I had never made any such decision, but Bea had returned to her story, her face dreamily recollecting.

"He never got soft until after the last one, when he came out of me with a funny 'plurp' sound, and I decided that was enough for one afternoon. So I sat down on his face, and he licked me clean enough so I could walk without leaking. But I saved a lot of his cum inside me for you, dear. Later I let it drain into some new nylon panties I bought just for that purpose, and I put it in a baggy in my valise over there. Those panties will be your night-time gags all this week, so you'll know how my men tasted. You see, dear? I want to share everything. Anyhow, I licked and sucked his cock clean, and found I couldn't get my mouth onto him when he had gotten fully hard again. But licking the underside of that thick shaft brought him off. Remember that, darling, when some man's cock is much too big for even your mouth. In a way it was like trying to kiss the top of a fence post!"

"And you know something, Honey? It turned out that the whole time he was lying on his back and I was riding on top of him, his back was getting all scratched up by brambles and nettles underneath him. He must have been in real pain the whole time. When I saw how his skin was torn, I felt terrible for him. But he just laughed, and said that his girlfriend whips him all the time, that the pain adds a little extra spice when he's making love. Well, my dear, you may be quite sure, as I train you to become the girl I want to have for my husband, that I will never inflict pain on you. Never! Unless you need and deserve it, to punish you for disobeying me. But you never will, will you, darling. Come here!"

She sat up on the bed, and crooked her finger at me. I got up out of the divan chair and wiggled my butt over to her, very much aware of the butt plug in my rear, and much aware that her story had given me an erection. Then when I was directly in front of her I also dropped to my knees, I still don't know why. She seemed so self-confident, so deserving of my worship. "Oh, aren't you sweet!" Bea exclaimed, sounding charmed and delighted. She spread her legs so I could lean forward and kiss her slit through her panties, and I buried my face in her crotch. She held my head there for a moment, and kissed the top of my head, and patted me affectionately, as if I really were her beloved pet. I nuzzled her and looked up, and she motioned me back to my chair with her head, looking pleased.

"Well," she said. "I see that Steve has been busy with you. I'm so happy that you appreciate what I'm doing with you, my dear, and why, and what I'll want you to become as our marriage progresses. And that now you understand everything, or enough anyhow, for now. And that you don't mind some of the tricks I used to get you where you are now, especially when you didn't know what I really wanted."

I started to object that there were many things we needed to discuss, but again Bea wasn't listening. She lay back again on her bed, and started in again.

"Now, you'll appreciate how I arranged for my second really good fuck. The opportunity came about two hours later, during the cocktail hour, and I guess you could say that it continued through dinner. It seems that as a first-time visitor, the management arranged some special things for me --a bouquet of flowers in my room when I arrived, and a box of chocolates, and free access to the room's wet bar for the first night, and one of the Hotel's more dependable guests requested to look in and see if everything was OK."

"He was a doll! Short, a little shorter even than me, and cute as can be, with clean, chiseled features, and the nicest smile. His manner was a little shy and utterly charming. While I was putting away my clothes, and in fact just as I was stuffing my first pair of soaked panties into a baggy for you, there came a knock on the door, and when I opened it, his darling round head popped through and smiled at me and said, 'Hi, Bea! I'm Edgar! Call me Eddie! I'm a guest this weekend too. The management asked me to look in to see if you have everything you need. I tried to bring along your two friends, um, yes, Pearl and Kay, so we could have a kind of cocktail hour of our own, all together. But they're busy, and Kay told me to run along and tell you not to look for either of them until much later tonight.'"

"I opened the door wide and invited him in, and in he came, with a kind of jaunty dance step. I saw immediately what special kind of fun I could have with him, and I started right in. 'Eddie,' I said. 'You're just in time! Please, I need your advice! Which of these two dresses should I wear to dinner tonight?' I picked up two that were still lying on the bed, about to be hung in the closet, a rose chiffon, and a beaded black velvet with appliques, and I held them in front of me, first one, then the other. He looked admiringly at both.

"'Well, Bea,' Eddie said, 'They're very different, Are you feeling frivolous and feminine, sort of helpless, like the pink dress, or do you feel more controlling and severe, more of a femme fatale, like the black one?'"

"'I don't know,'" I said. "'Maybe you can help me decide.' I handed him the chiffon. 'Would you hold this up against you for a moment so I can see what the effect is?' Well, he was a little disconcerted, but he did it. 'Yes,' I said sort of vaguely. 'You know, Eddie, that's a good color for you. Does your wife like to dress you in rose?'"

"By now he was blushing, just as I'd hoped. 'No,' he said, 'My ex-wife didn't like to see me wear anything flowery, not even Hawaiian shirts. She wanted me to look like a real man.' He smiled and glanced at me, then looked away, blushing even deeper. This, I thought to myself, is a piece of cake!"

"'And if you were to wear that color, you wouldn't be a real man?' I asked, looking him steadily in the eyes. I decided to take the plunge. 'Let's see! I'll take this dress off, and my bra, and panties, and everything, and you put that dress on, with a bra, and panties, and everything, and then we'll see if you can still be a real man!' Eddie got so confused, the poor dear, that he just stood there with an odd smile on his face, looking at me, and looking away, and clutching the dress even closer to him. I don't know if anyone was ever propositioned like that before. I'm sure he hadn't been. Before he could come back to his senses I quickly laid out a bra and slip, and stockings and a garter belt, and the laciest panties I could find in a hurry, all at hand on the bed next to him. 'There you are, Eddie,' I said. 'If you're a man, welcome to Paradise!' And then very slowly, looking steadily at his eyes the whole time, I began to unbutton the top button on my dress."

"'I...uh...do you...?' he started to ask, but I just kept staring at him with my femme fatale smile, finished the top button, and began on the second."

"'I think I feel controlling and severe,' I said to him. 'I'll wear the black velvet to dinner. Do you feel frivolous and feminine and helpless? Will you accompany me tonight wearing that dress you're still holding? Can you make love to me in that dress right now, and then go to cocktails and dinner with me?' Then in a single movement I swept my dress off over my head, and then swept my hands down over my breasts, cupping them and lifting them, and preening myself up on tiptoe for a moment. Then I bent over, eyes still fixed on his, and reached for the hem of my slip. I knew he could see way down the cleft between my breasts."

"Well, my dearest hubby-girl, at that point Eddie turned to jelly, and he was mine. I wish I'd thought to do something like that with you a year ago, to get you into your first dress. But by that time, sex with me wouldn't have been enough incentive for you, I suppose. And you didn't need to prove to yourself that you were a man -- you thought you were one. Anyhow, Eddie gave out a little moan, and set the dress onto the bed, and started to unbuckle his pants. I waited until they were draped around his ankles, and then I came over to him and took his head between my hands and kissed him on the lips, slowly, and then I took off my slip and sat down on the bed just a few feet away, still looking directly at him. I'm sure he noticed that I was wearing a bra and nothing else, naked from the waist down, looking at him. His eyes fixed fascinated on my bush. I crossed my legs. 'Well?' I said?"

"Inside of a minute Eddie was stark naked. He picked up the bra and slung it around him, fastened it in front, turned it, cupped himself, pulled up the straps, straightened the bandeau in front, and reached for the panties. Well, well, I thought to myself. Eddie has done this before."

"'Stockings and garter belt first,' I said, 'Or your panties won't come off fast enough for you to fuck me while I'm available. Is the bra as comfortable as your others?"

"'Yes,' he said, blushing even deeper than before, if that was possible. 'How did you know that I have others?'"

"'Oh, we girls can always recognize each other,' I said. 'But unlike your wife, I like men who wear brassieres. In fact, I have a hubby at home I'm turning into a wife right now, and he loves it."

At this point I couldn't sit still any more. "Bea, listen!" I said. "I don't ...."

"Oh yes you do!" Bea said suddenly, sitting straight up and ... well, glaring at me for a moment, then softening again. "Henry, I'm telling you this story for a reason! I love you, and I especially love what I've made you, and I mean to go much further with you, as you'll soon find out. So far you've been understanding, and considerate, and you've gone along with everything. But don't think I can't feminize another man to my purposes, if you should decide you don't want me to make you the sweet, compliant, useful woman I know you can be. You do want to keep going with you, don't you?"

I wasn't sure what she meant by that last -- of course married people go with each other. Or did she mean turning me into Steve's fuckslut, or her own, or into whatever else she had in mind? So I just nodded.

"Say it, Henry!"

"Yes, Bea, I want you to keep going with me." And I did! And then out it came! "I need you, Bea!" I cried out to her. I was feeling strange about her jogger, and a little jealous of Eddie, and a little humiliated, and terribly vulnerable! If my hands weren't still cuffed behind me, I'd have wiped my eyes. They were filling with tears.

"Well that's just lovely, Honey!" Bea was moved when she heard how I said it, and saw how I felt. "Then rest assured, my precious. I will certainly keep going with you. We won't stop."

She relaxed and resumed her story. "Anyhow, Eddie got into the rose chiffon gown, and he looked so sweet, just like a girl going to her first prom. I put makeup on him, and he was in seventh heaven. A real transvestite, his dick getting rock hard just from the thought of putting on a dress or mascara, and I soon had him as pretty as could be in both. You know, his wife suspected, but she never knew. And when she finally found his cache of dresses and lingerie, she left him. Can you imagine? Walking out on a man who can maintain a practically permanent erection as long as he's dressed like a girl? So silly! So terribly wasteful!"

"Well, I kept my word and we made love a few times, but I was still so stretched out from my golden boy I couldn't feel Eddie, much. So I only came twice, after about an hour of steady screwing, only toward the end, when he was languishing and sighing and blissed out and finally starting to get soft. I was the first girl he'd ever fucked dressed as a girl, and he told me he was never again going to make love any other way. He developed such a crush on me! When we were finished, he wanted to lick me out, and he was terribly disappointed when I told him 'No'. But I wanted to save his cum for you, so I put on another fresh pair of panties and oozed into them all through cocktails and dinner, and then put them all damp and lovely into a baggie for you for tomorrow."

"I put on my black velvet gown and looked really svelte, and he dressed up as cute as could be in my chiffon, and ran down to buy a blonde wig from the beauty salon, and then he stayed dressed and by my side the whole weekend, my devoted servant, even when I was making love to other men. He got himself a complete new wardrobe and make-over for Saturday night. I spent Saturday night learning bondage tricks from a man who was a master at them, who had brought his very own slave, and I needed a slave to practice on. Eddie really was a born panty slave, no doubt of it! He went home this afternoon planning to throw out all his male clothes and begin a course of hormones and go all the way toward becoming a woman, all on his own. Maybe even try sex with men. He was so grateful that I'd liberated him, as he put it!"

"But you see, Honey, there's nothing for you to feel jealous about, that I had another girl picking up after me during the weekend, sucking me out, and slurping up cocks I'd wet down.. I wanted it to be you, remember. And it will be, dear. Trust me!"

It was getting dark out, and Bea's story still hadn't gotten to Friday evening, much less to Sunday afternoon, when the ladies' all kissed their gentlemen goodbye and went home to their husbands, and the gentlemen returned to their wives. Without saying a word, Bea took the key to the handcuffs out of her bedside drawer and released me, and the two of us went downstairs together. She went into the living room and began reading the Sunday newspaper, and I knew what was expected of me. I looked through the fridge and found that Steve had thought out even this moment. There was a note pointing to goose pate, crackers, and chilled wine, lobster salad, potato salad, two huge Italian club sandwiches, and the fixings for espresso coffee. I brought them all in on a tray, set them down on the coffee table in front of Bea, poured out the wine, and then unexpectedly, knelt down on the floor in front of my wife. And just as I had done when I came home from Celeste's committed to be a woman for a year like it or not, I started to cry. But this time once I started, I couldn't stop. I buried my face in her lap, and just kept sobbing, inconsolable.

Bea wasn't at all surprised. She remained seated on the couch, and she leaned over and stroked my head affectionately. "There, there," she said. "I know! It's all moving so fast for you, now. You think you've lost all control over things. But darling, you never did have control over things. You only thought you did. Trust me. Surrender yourself to me. I know what's best for the both of us. I'll tell you about the rest of my weekend some other time. There were a few more wonderful men, and I have their cum on my panties for you to share, and one wonderful pair of panties covered with the cum that leaked out of my ass. But you can taste them later. And you don't have to know now how else I was fucked, or by whom. We need to look to the future."

"Tomorrow you begin being Honey full time, and begin working for Pearl, and step into a whole new world. We have to get you ready. As her receptionist, you'll need to receive all kinds of clients for her. Let's just enjoy this delicious dinner you've brought in right now. All right?"

"And darling, tonight I want you to sleep with me. As a special treat, in my own bed. With your hands tied behind you, of course, because I want you to be thinking always about what you can't grasp for yourself, what you need me to do for you. I want you to feel helpless, the way you feel right now, and dependent on me. Don't worry, darling. I'll be smothering you in kisses all night. You're such a sweet angel! You're giving up everything for me, even some things you don't even know about yet. But I do. You'll understand soon. Just wait."

She held out a wine glass. "Here, dear. I'll leave your hands free for now, so if you want you can help yourself!"

I ate a few bites, and then cleaned up, and went upstairs with Bea, and prepared for bed, and slipped on a nightie, and then presented my wrists to her once again. She wrapped some kind of velcro band around them, nicer than the handcuffs, and I got into bed with my wife, and she comforted me. She told me how pretty I was, and caressed my breasts, and called me her darling girl, and her precious baby. I felt so very strange! I was no longer sure who I was, and when she gave me a pair of her cum-soaked panties, the jogger's she said, I sucked gratefully on them until I fell asleep. I remember thinking to myself that he tasted a little like Steve, but not a lot. She was sharing him with me. She was right. There was a whole new world out there.

 

Chapter Nine: Working Girl
(in which our heroine learns to whore for her employer)

 

"Wake up, curleytop! Time for you to fix us breakfast, and then to get dressed to go to work. Your face is already lovely, as always these days, though a little more eye shadow and mascara might be appropriate." Bea looked me over critically, then continued. "Oh, I'm so pleased you decided to get permanent makeup! Do you know yet which suit you'll wear? Remember, Pearl likes her women sexy but businesslike, so no blouse under your jacket. It should be an interesting day for you, dear, whatever you wear."

For a moment it seemed like old times, the two of us in bed together, except that Bea was uncommonly animated. In the old days, if she awoke ahead of me she'd just crawl out of bed and start her own day. Now I was expected to start her day for her.

"Hi!," I said. I felt a little like my old self. But instead of giving her a peck on the cheek, as was usual when she woke ahead of me in a good mood, I rolled over and asked, "Can you release my hands now?"

"Why of course dear!" she replied. "This morning you're a working girl. I'm certainly not willing to be cited for sexual harassment of a girl on the job."

"I'm not a girl," I muttered as I rubbed my wrists back to their usual comfort level, and looked at my long, beautifully finished nails, smooth and elegant with four coats of nail polish on them.

"Well, you lovely thing, you could have fooled me!"

I suppose she was right. I glanced in the mirror on my way to the bathroom, and there I was, my face as elegantly feminine as my nails, the red hair Celeste had given me tousled to match the bedroom look in my eyes, my lips pouting with that "fuck my mouth" look she and Bea thought so attractive. Well, I thought, Steve didn't mind my looking this way, not at all. So why should I? I took care of myself in the bathroom, shower, enema douche, tampon, the usual, and went down to start the coffee, thankful that my butt plug and training corset weren't on today's agenda. Bea came down in her peignoir, still reminiscing.

"Did I tell you I ran into Bob again at the hotel?" she asked. "Sunday morning. I barely had time to put on this very robe when he knocked on the door and came in, and told me how delighted he was to see my name on the guest register. Then in five minutes he had the gown off me and was into me. We had a wonderful, wonderful reunion. I was climbing all over him, just like that night when he was my birthday present from the girls. Do you remember how he tasted in me that first time? I've brought you a pair of my panties with his cum leaked into them, to remind you. But really, what I remember most about Bob isn't his taste, or even the size of his cock compared with your little thing. It's how he moves when he's inside you. It's mysterious, a sort of pulling back and yet at the same time plunging deeper, and terribly exciting. Look, I'm wet just thinking about it. I can't explain it. You'll just have to find out for yourself how it feels to have a man like that inside you."

I poured Bea the coffee I'd just made, and she warmed both hands on the cup. She was in a marvelous mood.

"Oh, Honey, you're wonderful!" she announced to me. "No other husband in the world would do what you're doing! You don't know how lovely it is that now I can talk about men with you, now that you're my very best girlfriend and we can talk about anything at all. It's like being a teenager all over again. And I haven't even given you a chance to tell me about Steve. Was he very hard on you, all that the obedience training I asked him to give you? You do need it, dear. And more. But if he was mean to you, did his lovemaking make up for it?"

"Bea," I said, "that's what I don't understand. He kept saying that you don't want me to be a man with you any more. But I'm still Henry, down underneath, and I will be again when this makeup wears off."

"Still Henry?" Bea said, the lilt in her voice a little subdued, her voice a little more serious. "With that voice? And those breasts? And that face? No, thank God, you're not. Don't even dream it, Honey dear. Henry doesn't live here any more. Steve's cock may have pushed into Henry's ass the night of my birthday party, but once it was buried there it performed magic. It turned Henry into Honey. Then when Steve's cock pulled out of her ass Honey took over the premises. Isn't that true? Was it Henry or Honey who spent this past weekend making love to Steve?"

"No, the only part of Henry I ever really loved is you, Honey. You were so buried in that pompous fool. it took me a whole year to find you inside him and bring you out into the open. Why in the world should you want to become Henry again? That boring excuse for a man! But now, just look at yourself! Gorgeous! I must say, I loved looking at you this morning before you woke up. My very own hubby turned into my very own luscious bimbo, and now getting ready for her first day as a working girl. I don't want to hear about Henry again. Which reminds me, you aren't wearing your training corset yet -- we'll need to go into your room to lace you into it. And did you insert your bigger butt plug this morning?"

"No, Bea, only a tampon!"

"Oh, my dear Honey! A tampon is for when you're having your periods! I'll tell you when. You need to wear your largest butt plug always, now that it fits you, unless I tell you to slip that big dildo into you instead for special occasions. You can never tell when you'll need to feel all stretched out and ready for anything. Now go upstairs and change, and get your training corset out, and I'll come up shortly to help you lace it up. I've already laid out your outfit for today."

"I'm sure Steve told you what I'm expecting from you. When you're a good girl, you'll find out how much I love you. When you're disobedient, you'll look back fondly to when Steve used only your vibrator to punish you. He was really just teasing you with it, but I won't be that soft-hearted. Now go upstairs and fix your hair." She stopped talking, and poured herself another cup of coffee. I had suddenly ceased to exist.

"Yes Bea," I said, got up, and went upstairs. I don't know if she even noticed. I remembered what Steve had said about lubrication, and was careful to use lots on the butt plug before inserting it. It slipped right in. Then with a few touches of the curling iron I fixed my hair back into piles of curls heaped up on each other. That style looked a little vulgar to me. All that curly elaboration seemed to be telling the world I'm willing to go to great lengths to look desirable and available, that I'm feminine and fuckable. But that's the hairdo Bea wanted for me, and that's what Celeste gave me. I slipped the corset over me, went over and put my hands on the stretching bar, and waited. Somehow, when I knew Bea was coming to help me, it didn't seem right just to sit and wait for her.

An hour later Bea was letting me out of the car on the block where Pearl had her offices. I was in a trim, close fitting lavender wool suit, with a jacket collar that plunged just past my bra, which peeked out from the deep V of my neckline. My skirt was just over calf length but slit up the back to way over the knees, the way Pearl wanted me to dress daily. She wanted me wearing minis only when I'd be used to close deals, whatever that meant. Bea had made me slather on tons of mascara and eye shadow! "You want to look mysterious, dear," she said. Then, on my permanently red lips she smeared a bright red lipstick with no subtlety whatever, glossy with gold flecks in it. As she dropped the tube in my purse she said "Use this often, Honey, every chance you get. Let men see you using it." When I protested it would stain anything it touched, she just smiled and said, "That's the point."

So there I was, dressed up like an office girl who was once a tramp, standing on the sidewalk, looking for the entrance to Pearl's building. Bea looked me over from behind the wheel, and of all things there was a sweet smile on her face.

"I feel as if I were sending my little girl off for her first day of school," she called to me. "You're going to learn so much. Be sure to tell me all about it when you get home. And don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Finally I saw Pearl's office building entrance on the far corner, at the other end of the block! Bea had deliberately let me off a distance away, to force me to strut my stuff. I was a little annoyed, but there was no place to hide, so I started down the street primly, clutching my purse to my chest. Then as Bea pulled away she called to me "Hips, girl, hips! Swing 'em!" Well, unfortunately, the butt plug I had in me also told me I was being too tight-assed, and it began to rub. So I had to take Bea's advice. By the time I reached the corner my hips were undulating like a pendulum, working women striding past me were glaring straight ahead, and cars in the street alongside were scarcely moving.

The door to Pearl's office suite was already open when I arrived, and Pearl was at her desk in her inner office. She called out, "Well, Henry, there you are! Stay right there, don't move! Bea's told me what she's done to you during the past week or so, and what Steve's been doing. I want to see for myself."

So I stood right there by the receptionist's desk, my desk I realized, clutching my purse with both hands and looking wide-eyed at her when she came into the waiting area. I realized that I should try to make a good impression. Pearl was my new boss, after all!

"Oh, sweetheart, don't look so frightened!" Pearl said. She threw me one narrow-eyed glance. "You'll do just fine." She herself was dressed in a gray pinstripe with a skirt that ended below her knees, and next to her I felt like a cartoon slut. But she was all business, "I'm not going to bite you, dear. Not me, anyhow. Even though you do look good enough to eat. I will never understand how Bea did it. There was Henry, a middle-aged executive, a senior partner in an important firm in town, and now here's Henry, who has never liked me, ready to be my brainless bimbo, all dressed up to spend the day on his back or his knees if that's what's required. It's wonderful, really."

"We've had this conversation already, Pearl," I said. "Knock it off! And I'm Honey, not Henry."

Suddenly I realized that was the old Henry speaking, barely tolerating his wife's friend and letting it show. Honey would never have the nerve to speak to her boss that way. I felt a pang of fright. Instinctively I put my fingers to my lips, shocked, and my eyes grew even wider. I looked at Pearl apprehensively. "Oops!" I said. "Oh, dear! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. Please forgive me, Pearl. I mean, I don't even know what I should call you. And what is it you want me to do? I'm so terribly sorry! Really!"

That reflex apology shocked me even more than my insolence of a moment earlier. But for a different reason. I had thought until that moment that I was playing at being Honey for the pleasure it gave Steve and Bea, and because they seemed not to want to see Henry ever again. But deep down I knew I was really Henry. Until that moment. But with that sardonic crack to Pearl, Henry suddenly felt so far out of place, and out of line, that I unwittingly switched him off and apologized for him, frightened. I really was Honey blathering that apology, not Henry. I had to wonder where Henry had gone, and whether Bea was right that he was dead, my body haunted by his ghost only now and then.

But even worse. Honey was apologizing to Pearl, of all of Bea's friends the one Henry held in contempt. Honey wanted Pearl's approval! And Honey was finding her mindless desire to please Pearl a comfort, and was taking refuge in it. And I was Honey!

Pearl sensed some of this, and suppressed her amusement. "As much change on the inside as on the outside, I see. And in only two weeks! Well!"

Then suddenly she became all business. "I'm glad to see you know your place, Honey. Just keep Henry out of the office -- he's not welcome. Your job is whatever I say it is, understood? Call me Mrs. Peters, and nothing else during business hours. This is your desk. That's your filing cabinet, if you're ever asked to file anything. You'll find the folders are in alphabetical order, top drawer to bottom drawer. The alphabet's as much intellectual work as you'll need to understand. On your desk is a Rolodex with names, also in alphabetical order, with descriptions of each of my clients you'll find useful. I expect that the moment one walks in you will look him up and read the entry, even before you page me to tell me he's arrived. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mrs Peters," I said. I still felt a little wide-eyed, a little terrified that I'd made a mistake the very first moment of my new job. Yet my new Boss didn't seem to mind. This time.

"Let me show you around and introduce you to the others. I share this office with three architects, named. oddly enough, Tom, Dick and Harry. Tom's father founded their business, and two ladies left over from his time are still working for the three of them. They're both way over fifty, and they do all the typing and filing. But if there's a work overload, you're expected to help out. I've arranged for Tom to try out your talents as a typist. You know how to work a word-processor?"

She saw my indignant look on my face. "Oh, of course, I forgot, Henry was a computer consultant. I really can't relate Henry's talents to yours, by the look of you now. Bea really must feel proud of what she's done with you! I doubt you appreciate it. But you will, dear, you will. In time!"

I didn't understand what she meant by that, but no matter. We stood in front of a door with the lettering 'Thomas Carrington' on it. After a short knock we entered. "Tom," Pearl said, "This is my new girl-of-all-trades, Honey. If you want to try her out, she is all yours now."

"Hello Honey, welcome to the chaos. You can see I'm not very tidy, and I hope you'll bring some sort of order into this mess. My ladies had too much work with a deadline during the past two weeks, and let things slip a little." Tom was a good-looking man in his mid-thirties and had the aura of a man in command.

"Yes, Mr. Carrington," I said, with as much wide-eyed sincerity as I could muster, "I'll be glad to help in any way I can."

"Let's do away with formalities," he said, looking me over with approval, I was glad to see. "Everybody here calls me Tom, and so should you."

"Thank you Tom. Do you have anything for me to do?"

"Yes, in fact I need to have this tape typed out," and he handed me a Dictaphone tape. "I want it back by lunch."

"I'll attend to it, if Mrs. Peters doesn't have other things for me to do."

"Even if I do," Pearl said. "We don't make our own schedules around here, do we Honey? We do what we're told, don't we. That's what Bea wants me to teach you, especially. So get used to it!"

Pearl steered me out, and we headed toward Dick McFadden and Harry Weingarten. There standing guard over their inner offices were their two elderly ladies, Nancy and Jane. They were as plain as their names suggested, but seemed to be lovable, motherly types.

"Hello," Nancy said. "I hear you're a man. Aren't you ashamed to be dressed like that, and to look like that?"

"Yes ma'am" I said truthfully. "A little. It's a kind of experiment. My wife wants it. She can get pretty determined, and in some ways I can't help doing whatever she wants. And in some ways I've found I enjoy looking and acting like this, if that's what she wants. There're advantages."

"Like getting laid by men?" Jane said. "Pearl told us about that. You can't have been much of a man, if that's what you enjoy now. It's probably just as well some woman's taken charge of you. Maybe you'll make a better woman. Of a certain kind, anyhow," she added, looking me over a little sternly.

Pearl continued with her tour of the office. "Over there's a coffee room, with a couch, and a carpet, and other useful amenities. Think of it as a private office, where you do some of your work when you're away from your desk. Look it over and get familiar with it. You'll find there's a lock on the door, and a key in your top desk drawer. Use it. There will be no embarrassing revelations while you're in there -- they're bad for business. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, though I didn't at all.

"Yes Mrs. Peters," Pearl snapped. "Didn't I just tell you it's Mrs. Peters and nothing else? You really are stupid, aren't you?"

She looked at me closely, and I was embarrassed to find I was blushing. This was really crazy! Who does Pearl think she is? But who do I think I am? I was confused, and tried to say "Yes, Mrs. Peters," but nothing came out.

"Well, Honey, I suppose you'll catch on soon enough. Do you think you can boil water?"

I nodded reassurance, too confused to resent the insult.

"Good! Put up a pot of coffee, and bring me a cup as soon as it's ready. Oh yes. You'll find your desk drawers have all the makeup and hairdo and manicure supplies you'll need during business hours. I'll expect you to be seen using them whenever you're at you're desk. Your job is to look as pretty as you can, what men in the construction trades think is pretty, and to look as if that's what you work at all day long. Have some kind of nail file ready to use if a customer should walk in unexpectedly. That red lipstick and a small mirror would be better still. The shade is perfect, incidentally. Bea's choice? Keep using it. I want to keep seeing that tube in your hand and your lips looking as if you meant to suck on it."

She turned to walk back into her inner office. "Bea's really done wonders with you, Honey. I hope you're grateful. I told her to dump you over a year ago, but she thought you were still usable, still worth keeping around for some things. She said she had her own reasons. Maybe she was right. We'll see. I want that coffee in five minutes!"

And she was gone. I went to the desk and set down my purse, and got the key, and opened the coffee room. It was practically a living room, though windowless. Over the couch was a portrait of a reclining nude woman, a Titian or Goya or somebody. There was also an easy chair, and over by the far wall, under a huge framed painting of Marilyn Monroe, a bar with a coffee maker and a small sink. I started the coffee going immediately. Exactly five minutes later I brought a cup of it in to Pearl, and she took it without bothering to look up from some papers she was reading.

I then sat down at the computer, and typed up Tom's tape in under an hour. I brought the typescripts over to him, and saw he was engaged in a screaming match with one of his contractors. He waved to leave the file on his desk and get out.

Five minutes later I heard him scream through the door. "Honey, get in here! Where are the copies?" When I got in, he started screaming at me for something I hadn't done, obviously, but I didn't understand what he meant. "Alright, I should have know by the way you look, you are just another dumb Bimbo. Now get out of here! I'll have to do everything myself -- as usual! GET OUT!"

I was close to tears as I left his office, but Jane consoled me. "It's just a matter of stress. He's had too much during the last week. He didn't tell you he wanted copies. He'll probably apologize in five minutes. Just go back to your desk, dear."

I did, and occupied myself with Pearl's filing system. Jane was right. About five minutes later my phone rang and Tom asked me to come in. When I entered his office, he was standing there. "I want to apologize, Honey, please have a seat."

He motioned me to the leather couch, and when I sat down he sat down next to me.

"Jane has already told you, we've had a lot of stress in the last few weeks. The contractors are falling behind and the developer is holding back money and threatening fines. I know, you weren't at fault. You did a good job actually. Please forgive me."

I smiled at him as he took my hands, kissing both of them lightly.

"You know," he continued, "It isn't only the stress here. My wife of ten years left me with the kids just last week. I feel totally destroyed. And then you walked in, and -- I don't exactly know what, your walk, your smile -- you somehow reminded me of her. Maybe I wanted to punish her through you."

With that he actually started to cry. He buried his head in my shoulder, sobbing, and then slid down to my breasts. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know this man, and now I had to console him. I'd never consoled any man. I patted his head, and told him everything would come out fine, and stuff like that.

He finally recovered his composure somewhat. "You understand me, don't you? I'm sorry. Let's make up with a kiss."

Is this what it means to be an office girl, I wondered? He held me close and before I knew it, he had pressed his mouth on my lips and entered me with his tongue. I don't know why exactly, maybe I felt sorry for him, but I didn't push him away. I thought of Steve and found I was kissing him back, and licking his tongue with mine! We kept at it for several minutes, and then he took my hand and put it on his crotch. I felt a really big hard-on. He let go my hand, but never stopped kissing me, and pulled down his zipper and took out his cock, and placed my hand on it.

"Please," he said, "do me. I haven't had it for so long and I need it -- and you are so beautiful. Please." He pressed me down off the couch and onto my knees between his legs, holding my head just a few inches from his cock. "Please, I beg you, Please."

The next thing I knew I had his cock in my mouth, sucking him as best as I could. It felt different from Steve's, shorter and fatter, and I wondered if in some way I was being unfaithful to Steve, or to Bea, or to somebody. But Tom was moaning in bliss. It didn't take two minutes until he came in my mouth.

When I had drained him of every drop of his cum, licked him clean, and replaced his cock in his trousers, I felt a little embarrassed. Henry would have been mortified. But Honey didn't know how to act in such circumstances either.

He got up and put his arms around me. "Thank you," he said kind of solemnly. "That was the nicest thing anybody has done for me for a year. Thank you my dear. But it's best now if you just let me alone." He guided me to his door, gave me a little kiss on the cheek, and let me out.

To say I was perturbed when I walked back to my desk would have been an understatement. I was all shook up by what had happened. I hardly knew the man, who was kind of also my boss, and I had succumbed to his wishes and sucked him off on my first day at work as Honey. I had intended to be a proper office-girl, cheerful and helpful, to see what it was like, mostly because Bea wanted me to have the experience, and wanted me to have something to do now that I couldn't go back to work in my own office soon. But now! How could I let myself go so quickly? Why did I do it? I should have been appalled even the suggestion, but instead, I had gone right along with the suggestion. After all the time I had spent learning to do everything Steve wanted, it seemed somehow ... familiar and easy to do what Tom wanted. To be quite honest, I even had enjoyed making him moan and squirm when he came. What had come over me? What would Bea think when I told her?

The rest of my day was uneventful, except that Dick and Harry seemed to want to loiter in the coffee room. At least they went there quite often, passing my desk with encouraging smiles as they came and went.

That night, I told Bea what had happened with some trepidation. But she seemed scarcely interested. "Well, dear, that's the kind of thing working girls always have to put up with. And you're a working girl now, isn't that so? I'm glad to hear you're having the full experience. There's no harm done, if you enjoyed it too." I was amazed that this was her only comment.

The next morning Harry called me to his office, and I found Dick there with him. "We want you to understand that we are Equal Opportunity Employers," Harry began. I was a little confused, because I didn't see what that had to do with me. But Harry then explained himself. "We think that all of us here at the office should have equal opportunities, and we heard that you gave Tom a blow job yesterday. We think you should give us the same opportunities. Don't you agree, Dick?"

"Of course -- and if I may make a suggestion, perhaps on a regular basis, like every morning, when you bring us each our morning coffee."

"A very good Idea, Dick," said Harry. "I'm sure Tom will agree to this arrangement. Let's set up a schedule. Whoever comes in first, gets served first, and then we continue in order of arrival. If two of us arrive at the same time, the older one gets blown first. I think this can be a great incentive for us to come in early. Honey, you'll be doing the firm a great service."

I was flabbergasted. Who were they to even suggest such a thing? Such gall! "But I mean ... I cannot ... This is not what I am here for ... I mean ...."

"Of course you aren't here only for the cocksucking, Honey. But it's a nice fringe benefit, for all of us", Dick said in even tones. "And you can't deny to the other partners what you've already given to one. We all have the same rights here. We can't make an exception just for you."

"But I was just trying to be nice to Tom, to relieve him from his stress and make him feel comfortable. I mean it was a special situation and all ...."

"We are all in the same situation every morning," Harry ventured. "We all have our marital problems, we're all stressed the same way as Tom, so what's special about him? Did you like his dick that much? Wait'll you taste mine! And Dick's dick has never had any complaints, he tells me! He's proud of its name! Let's settle this right now."

With that he opened his trousers and took out his half erect cock, and I must say, even in this state it looked impressive. He took me by the shoulders. Dick moved behind me and nudged the backs of my knees, which folded. I would have fallen, but Harry steadied me, and I found myself kneeling in front of him with his cock in line with my mouth.

"Oh no!" But my next words were already muffled by his cockhead wedged between my lips. Holding tightly onto my head, he began fucking my face. I felt his cock growing, and somehow the situation caught on, and against my will I started getting aroused too. It was all so strange. I embraced his thighs and pulled him toward me, and slid my head back and forth, and sucked him as if my life depended on it. It was over soon, as he shot his hot load into my throat.

"You really are a great talent -- Tom was quite right. Now it's Dick's turn." He stepped away from me, and before I had swallowed all of his cum, I had my mouth filled with Dick's cock. Dick's was a little smaller, but had a huge, bulbous head, very sensitive I soon found out, maybe because he wasn't circumcised. He came as quickly as Harry, though I had the impression he had tried to hold back.

"Now that wasn't too bad, was it?" Harry asked as he helped me up again. I didn't know what to say, my feelings were all churned and confused. In a way it wasn't bad at all. I even liked it. But on the other hand, I felt shouldn't have done it at all. Only sluts and whores and loose women suck off different men each day. And I was married!

"Honey, don't think the worse of yourself. What you did was very natural, and if I judge your reaction, you enjoyed it too. So actually, we all enjoyed it. And there's no reason we shouldn't enjoy ourselves. What's that old saying, 'carpe diem,' seize the day? Life is too short to deny yourself enjoyable things. Now go back to your desk, have a cup of coffee, and we'll see you tomorrow morning." Just as Tom had done, both kissed me lightly on my cheeks and sent me out.

Well, what can I say? It did become a habit. Again I told Bea, while she was reading a magazine, and all she said was, "That's nice. I'm so happy for you!" And then she returned to her magazine.

Each morning I sucked off all three of them, and after a while I even began looking forward to it. Some of it was my pleasure in the feeling of control I had over them while I was driving them half out of their minds. Some of it was in the pleasure I felt, being a woman submissive to a man's desires. Henry would have been disgusted and outraged, but Henry seemed to be in hiding. So it was Honey who asked Bea how she should feel.

Bea eased my feelings of guilt. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, really, if they're nice men, and whatever they're asking isn't revolting to you. Exactly what do you feel guilty about? It's consensual, and exciting, and millions of women do it every day. It's quite natural. Nobody really forced you. You've told me that you like doing it. So go ahead and do it. It will broaden your experience with men. Each day, try to improve your cocksucking techniques. Try different sucks and licks with each of them. The knowledge may come in handy some time. You never know."

I thought about it. With Tom, Dick, and Harry, sex was a fun game. With Steve it was like being in love, there was so much feeling and understanding involved. Steve always knew exactly how I felt, and cared, and sometimes it seemed that he felt the same way. With Tom, Dick and Harry my sexual services were just good clean fun we all enjoyed without any complications, with no romantic feelings at all. We even joked about it sometimes. It was a new experience for me to have that kind of relationship with men. I wondered if they know I wasn't a real girl. Their two older secretaries knew, of course, but maybe they'd never said anything to their bosses. Maybe they were too embarrassed. I asked Pearl never to reveal what I really was, and she didn't. Maybe some kind of female conspiracy kept the women too amused to tell them.

On the other hand I made sure that our sex was strictly oral sex. I told them I wanted to save the rest for my boyfriend, and they respected me for that.

Monday of the second week Bea told me to wear a suit with an extremely short skirt. It barely covered my ass. "I hear Pearl has some quite important assignments for you today," she said. I wasn't even allowed to put on panty-hose.

After I had seen and sucked Tom, Dick and Harry as usual, Pearl called me into her office. "OK, Honey," she said. "You've passed your first week's test. Your work today will be a little different. Last week you were getting acquainted with everybody, and I hear you've made quite a hit with the boys. This week you'll have some new responsibilities. Now here's what."

She held out a thick sheaf of legal papers, then slipped them into a folder and set them on her desk in front of me. "These contracts need to be signed, by a tough son-of-a-bitch named Mahoney who wants every advantage he can get. Let's see if you can earn this week's salary right now. He's in his office a block away. These papers are what he's agreed to. He's going to say he was promised more, and that it should cost him less. Get him to sign anyhow. This is very important. And make sure to bring back the check due upon his signature. That son-of-a-bitch has strung me along for so long, I'm furious with him. And I need the cash flow. If I went to see him myself, I'm sure I would kill the bastard when he came up with more of his usual shit. Don't come back without the check. If you don't get it, you may as well go home, because you're fired, whatever I promised Bea. This is business! You understand me?"

I didn't, really. Receptionists don't negotiate contracts. But "Yes, Mrs. Peters," is all I said.

"Good. And be back in an hour at the latest. You'll be needed by then. Oh, and don't wear that suit jacket closed. I want everyone to see how those tits of yours bounce when you walk."

Well, everyone did see them. By the time I reached Mahoney's office there stretched behind me a street full of grinning men, and of women who either looked grim or else smiled encouragingly. And I was embarrassed. Partly because I was dressed like a slut when in fact I was a good girl. Partly because I wasn't a girl at all but a man whose wife had him living like a girl, and looking like one. But partly because in all these months, with all the women's clothes I had been wearing at Bea's request, I still felt a little uneasy when I was out in public alone, dressed as a girl as if by my own choice. Here I was, with no one coaching me, being Honey. Was I?

"Yeah, you're Honey all right," Mahoney said, after I knocked timidly on his office door and he let me in. "C'mon in. There's no one else here yet." He led me into his inner office and sat down behind his desk, legs apart, just looking at me. There on his desk was one of the pictures of me Bea had taken before she went off to her hotel. A very sexy pose too, wearing that dress with my tits all naked. I felt a little embarrassed. Bea must have given it to Pearl, and Pearl must have given it to Mahoney. And to other customers and clients? I wished she hadn't.

"You're wasting your time, Honey," Mahoney said. Then why did I think he was opening a negotiation, not closing one off? "Is that the contract you're carrying? I won't sign. I told your boss I want additional compensation to sign."

"What kind of compensation?" I asked. I realized this was Henry speaking. This conversation was bringing Henry back again. Henry had negotiated lots of contracts.

"I like to feel good about reaching an agreement," Mahoney said. "I don't feel good yet. Maybe I should be talking to your competition."

Henry sensed where this conversation was going, and went back wherever he had come from. Honey returned. "What would make you feel good, Mr. Mahoney," I asked him. It was as if the lines were scripted.

"Well, looking at those tits of yours waving like flags is making me feel good, for openers."

There was nothing else I could do. I had to ask the next question. My job depended on it. "Would you like to look at them more closely, Mr. Mahoney? Would that help you feel good?" I started to unbutton my jacket further.

Mahoney just sat there watching. I freed them altogether, put the jacket and my bra on his desk, sat down in the chair alongside his desk, and pushed them out in his direction. Mahoney stared at my swollen breasts and naked nipples without a word. "Would it feel good for you to suck on them, Mr. Mahoney?" I asked. I stood up, straddled his lap facing him, sat down, and thrust a nipple into his mouth. He immediately began sucking on me like a starved infant, and I felt a familiar delicious sensation rise up inside me. I wrapped both my arms around his head. "More," I said, and to my own surprise I meant it. I began to breath heavily. He pulled harder on me, and then lunged at my other breast and sucked on that for a while. I felt something prodding at me down below, at my crotch.

I realized the obvious. To get this contract signed, I was letting a man I had never seen before use my body. It was embarrassing. It was one thing to give Pearl's office associates certain services. But now I was being Pearl's company whore. Did Pearl expect this when she sent me here? Probably. But she hadn't told me I had to do this. I had just decided to do this. Did I have a choice? Mahoney's mouth on my nipples was working me up so I even had trouble remembering why I was here.

"Mr. Mahoney," I said. "The papers are all on your desk. They need your signature in two places marked ... (he began to tongue me) ... in red. Now you sign in two places right now, one for each breast. Then I assure you, you will be so eager to sign the check due upon signature I won't be able to stop you. That's how it will be for you. It'll feel just like having an orgasm! I guarantee it."

My boob held firmly into his mouth, Mahoney reached around me and scrawled something next to two of the red marks. Gently I disengaged his mouth, knelt between his legs, undid his zipper, and watched his cock spring up out of his pants. Average size, I took due note, a little bigger than mine, quite a bit smaller than Steve's, a minor variation on Tom's, or Dick's or Harry's. No problem! I took his purple cock head into my mouth and squeezed my lips onto it a few times. He groaned. I saw pre-cum begin to leak from his pee hole, and tongued it. He squealed a little. I realized why Bea and Pearl had wanted me to use that cheap lipstick, and why the three architects always asked me to wipe my mouth before mouthing them. Already his prick had red rings smeared on it, little memorials of my services to him. I plunged my head all the way down his shaft, and when I could feel my lips touching the hair right next to his balls, I imprinted my trade mark again as hard as I could. I wondered if he would have to explain these hieroglyphics to someone else.

As I licked his shaft, I realized that this was already the seventh prick I had had in my mouth, Steve's being the first, then Stu and Fred briefly, and of course Tom, Dick and Harry's. But Steve cared for me, whatever else, and I cared for him. It was like love. With those guys at the singles bar it was just something you do on a date. With the partners it was fun, and we kidded each other a lot about it. But not this. I couldn't help thinking, as I ran my tongue and then my rounded lips up and down the veins on Mahoney's penis, that now I was just a hired cocksucker. A cocksucker for Pearl, a woman I did not respect. No, I thought, as I took Mahoney deeper into my throat, a cocksucker for Bea. Bea wants me to suck cocks. Why? Bea wants me to be a woman. I sucked him all the way down with all my might.

Mahoney groaned aloud, and I knew he was close. His hips began trying to fuck my mouth. This would never do.

"Just wait," I said, and I stood up. Mahoney moaned his disappointment, but I turned around with my back to him, slipped down my panties and pulled my butt plug, stood between his legs, and lowered my asshole onto his moist, stiff, prick. When I felt its tip touch my anal opening, and he was clutching my breasts one in each hand, and he was trying to thrust himself into me, I said, "Mahoney, the signature on the check!" Mahoney whimpered, let go a breast and grabbed the pen, pulled out a check-book and filled out the check, signed it, and then pushed into me with all his might as I lowered myself into him, then lifted up, then lowered again. He cried out, "Ayeeee!" and lifted his whole pelvis way up then down, nearly slithering out of me. Then I sat down hard on him, his prick deep inside, and he couldn't move. His prick throbbed, and as my buttocks held him rigid I could feel him pump hot cum into my bowels, spurting again and again. "Oh? Oh? Oh?" he asked, then "Ah! Ah! Ah!" he answered. Then his head collapsed and his hands fell slack onto my thighs.

I stood up, slipped a tampon into me to blot his fluids, pulled up my panties, gathered up the papers on his desk, making sure the check was filled out and signed correctly, and felt his hands pat my rear end with a kind of farewell familiarity. "You were right, Honey," he croaked, his throat still tense. "Best piece of ass in a long time. Tell Pearl thanks. She was right."

No question of it. Now I was Pearl's company whore. Pearl had set me up to do this, and I had gone along with it. Certainly Bea had known things like this were going to happen, and had wanted me to have the experience. Maybe I should feel good about it. Now seven men had used my body. But somehow this time I felt cheap. Demeaned. Slutty. "I'll call you, Honey baby," Mahoney said, as I re-attached my brassiere and slipped into my jacket. "That was the first asshole I've been in since high school. You ever want to leave Pearl and work for me, you let me know."

I returned to Pearl's office without a word, and dropped the papers on her desk. She first looked for Mahoney's scrawls, then for the check, and then looked up at me with a huge grin. "Well, Henry, you keep surprising me! You did it after all! Real company loyalty after only a week. Bea was right about you -- you are exactly the right girl for this job! I hope you got something out of it too, though Mahoney is usually all get and no give. You'd better fix your hair. And smear on more lipstick. Last week was last week. This week I'll need you to perform personal services like these fairly often. In fact, your next appointment is due in shortly."

As I turned to leave, she wasn't done. "It's a good thing Kay has you on birth control hormones, dearie, or you'd be knocked up by the end of the week. If it's any comfort to you, this is a big contract. You didn't sell yourself cheap." I headed down to the women's wash room, and I heard Pearl add gloating, "Except to me!"

I settled down at my desk, took out a nail file, fixed my lipstick, and waited. Nothing happened. So I started opening my desk drawers where there were fixings enough to equip an entire beauty salon, even hair rollers, though who would wear them during business hours stopped me. As I already knew, Pearl's receptionist's chief duty was to look beautiful. Correction, to be seen making herself look beautiful.

At 10:00am precisely the door opened and a large jovial man entered, saw me, smiled broadly, and strode toward me.

"How do you do?" he said. "You must be Honey! You sure are a honey! You look a lot better than that picture Pearl sent me!"

"Who shall I say is calling?" I asked him.

"Bollen. Bill Bollen. Old 'Bats and Balls' Bill to my friends, 'cause I've got 'em. Oh, boy, I'm gonna love this!" He kept looking at me, and he seemed to be reaching for me but then holding back.

I buzzed Pearl. "Mrs. Peters, there's a Mr. Bollen to see you," I said.

Pearl was furious, and this time I was really shocked by her response. "Not 'a' Mr. Bollen, you stupid idiot," she said into the phone. "'Bill Bollen!' Any client of mine is an intimate friend, do you understand me? And very welcome! Twit! Send him in in fifteen minutes, and meanwhile you get to be his intimate friend! Fast! You know how."

Another mistake! Again, I felt frightened! I didn't even know enough to hold down a job as a receptionist? I gathered up all the reserve I had left, and I said to the cheerful man in front of me, as coolly as I could, "Mrs. Peters will see you shortly, Mr. Bollen. But can I get you anything while you're waiting? Coffee?"

"You bet, Honey!" Pearl's client said. "I see the coffee room's already open. I'll wait for you in there." And in he went.

Now I really did have a problem. The man seemed to want coffee, but it didn't sound like it, exactly. Suddenly I remembered Pearl had told me to read the Rolodex entry the moment any client walked in. Yet another mistake! I felt sick as I looked up "Bollen, William," and found him almost immediately.

There were his business and his home addresses, the dates of previous contracts, the dates of previous visits, and at the bottom of the card I saw a peculiar code notation, "fa.fu., as.fu"

This was beyond comprehension. A credit rating? It occurred me to try to decode the note by looking at other notations, and gradually everything came clear. They were the notes a call girl might make to remind herself about her clients. "St.Fu" was a straight fuck. "Bl.Jo" was a blow job. "Li.Cu" stopped me for a moment, but and as I flipped other cards and saw it again, I realized it was "Lick Cunt." Not mine, anyhow, I thought, but then I noticed that notation was also on cards with women's names. Bollen's preferred method of passing time in the waiting room was "face fuck," and "ass fuck." My specialties. I was feeling intimidated. Was I ready to whore for Pearl on a regular basis?

When I walked into the coffee room, he was already seated on the couch, his fly unzipped. I went to the coffee pot, but realized no one was drinking any, and then went over to Pearl's client. Either do it or get fired, I realized, and who knew what Bea would do if that happened? I closed the door and turned toward him.

"So, Bill," I said with a forced smile he never looked up to notice, "What'll it be?"

"Just get down on me, cuntface!" he said hoarsely. "Thatta girl!" I knelt between a man's legs for the fifth time that morning, and suddenly his knees clamped shut on my ears. Then his hips started pumping his cock into my mouth, repeatedly, even before I remembered to cover my teeth with rounded lips. No matter. In ten or fifteen quick strokes he was pumping hot semen down my throat, and I was swallowing it as fast as I could. I tried to cry out "Oh, God!" but all that came out was a gurgle.

"Oh, yeah, I hear you, baby! I know! You love it!" Bill said. He pumped some more and grew hard again, and I pulled and sucked and swallowed him again. Eventually his hips relaxed and he sat back into the cushions, and I could lift my mouth off him. I remembered to look into his eyes with a grateful smile on my face. Again, I left circles up and down his pecker, evidence that I'd done what I'd done, I guessed so Pearl could call attention to it if her negotiations should reach an impasse.

There wasn't time for more. I licked Bill clean, kissed the tip of his pecker as if it were a national treasure, and zipped him back up. I stood up and led him to Pearl's office, and held the door open for him. "Pearl, baby!" he said.

"Hi, Bill," Pearl said. "Thank you, Honey. You happy with my new receptionist, Bill?"

I said nothing. I could still taste his cum, lightly salty, not as creamy as Steve's, less like egg white than any of the partners'. Nothing special. "You bet, Pearl," Bill said. "She's got a real good head on her shoulders!"

"That's what she's for," Pearl said. "Now, here are the project modifications. Initial them and we're done, and you can get better acquainted with Honey on your way out."

"You got it!" Bill said. I barely had time to get back to the coffee room when Bill was back, this time groping my tits from behind. I had the presence of mind to close the door, then to lie face down over an arm of the couch, my rear end high in the air. Mahoney's cum still lubricated my ass. Bollen crammed his re-stiffened dick inside and with a dozen thrusts he finished himself off. He had masturbated himself in my ass, I realized, as if I were warm meat -- I myself felt nothing. I blotted up his semen by stuffing some Kleenex between my cheeks, led him back to the reception area, handed him some tissues, and seated myself behind my desk.

"It's been good, Bill," I said. "Please come again whenever you can."

"Oh, yeah!" he said. "What time do you finish work?"

"Whenever Mrs. Peters says, Bill. It's up to her."

"I'll give you a call some time," Bill said, his mind already elsewhere. And he was gone.

I wasted no time checking Pearl's next appointment. An "as. li." was due in at 3:00pm, and a su.co. an hour later. I wondered whose "as." would get licked, his or mine.

It turned out to be hers, and her cu. also, by special request. The lady was thin, high-cheek-boned, very much a lady as she came into the office, but she too knew Pearl's routines. I went into the coffee room to get her a cup of coffee, black. She followed me in, closed the door, sat down, spread her legs, and looked directly at me without a word. I felt peculiar, and without even thinking I fell to my knees and buried my face between her legs. I stroked and licked her slit until she came, rather quietly and elegantly, raising her pelvis into my mouth as if it were on a tray and making small mewing sounds. When her hips stopped bucking, I pulled my soaked face out of her crotch. There was Pearl standing in the doorway, amused to watch me at work.

"You know, Penny," Pearl said to her, "you might want to train your husband to take care of his clients like this too. Honey here's on loan to me from his wife Bea. She wants him to experience completely what it is to be a woman."

"Really!" Penny replied, looking at me with renewed interest. "His wife? She's really done a marvelous job with er ... Honey. I'd never guess!. But I'll leave my husband just the way he is, thanks. He's lecherous and buries his big cock all over town, but I still get first crack at it. I don't suppose Honey's cock was ever much use, or his wife wouldn't have thought this up for him. His tongue shows promise, though. He'll make a fine lesbian."

"No," said Pearl, "I doubt it. He fell in love with the man his wife brought in to break his cherry. I think Honey here is a straight arrow."

"A pity," Penny said. "Well, shall we get to work?" And off they went, leaving me on my knees with my face still wet. After a while I stood and cleaned myself up, then went to my desk, and put on my makeup all over again. Even my mascara had smeared.

I felt sad, a little. I'd started looking like a woman because Bea needed to be cheered up. Now these two women were discussing my sexuality as if I were theirs to use or forget. I was Pearl's corporation prostitute, all right. Why did Bea want this for me? Because she thought I'd enjoy it?

The appointment marked "co.su" came in, and I sucked his cock. It meant nothing to me. I consoled myself that sex for me is a personal thing, that I need to feel loved before I can feel excited, and that I could cherish my sessions with Steve, or with Bea, because I felt for them and they cared for me. We respected each other. I liked the partners -- they respected me, and always tried to amuse me. But these people just used me. Strangely enough, by the end of the day I didn't feel dirty. Just used.

That first day of what Pearl had called my 'new responsibilities' Pearl locked up the office and drove me home without a word. Maybe even she realized she might have gone too far, mocking me for cooperating with her so effectively. Then, as I got out of her car she said, "Tell Bea that tomorrow's a calf-length skirt day again. Only a few conferences scheduled, and no closings. We may have overdone it, today, a little. Tomorrow you'll have a little time to do your nails and hair, and let your asshole drain and dry out. Maybe even to file some papers. Wednesday things'll pick up some, but there's nothing much more happening until Friday, maybe not until next week. Of course I'll want you to come in as usual, busy or not, to give our new customers a look at the services we offer them. I borrowed those pictures Bea took of you before last weekend, as you know, and gave out a few, and I put one into our company newsletter. Maybe they'll rustle up some new trade."

"Good night, Honey. You could have been a little more enthusiastic this afternoon, but I didn't hear any complaints from my customers, so I don't have any. Maybe you aren't the sex-crazed slut I thought you were. Maybe you're just like the rest of us so-called good girls, a dedicated whore only when people pay you off with love and affection."

When I got in, Bea called from her study to ask how things went, and I went in and told her, client for client, word for word. She listened carefully, nearly expressionless, and then took me upstairs to unlace my corset and let me get into something more comfortable, a plain skirt and sweater. She suggested I douche before coming down for dinner. While she was behind me untieing my corset laces she reached around and gently pulled on my cock with one hand until I came into a Kleenex she held in her other. It was the nicest thing that had happened to me all day. So thoughtful! That night she gave me another pair of her sex-weekend panties specially saved for me, with cum in them from her very twat, and I sucked on them as she requested. But my heart wasn't in it.

The next few days were easier, as Pearl promised. Working for 'Mrs. Peters,' pursing my mouth and lifting my ass for her clients when asked, refreshing my lipstick when anyone was watching, became so routine I stopped paying attention to the faces, just to the occasional cock I found thrust under my nose or my rump. They were each a little different. Each night, Bea gave me another pair of her cum-soaked panties from her weekend, to suck on during the night like a baby being fed a bed-time bottle. She asked me to notice how each man's cum tastes a little different. But I was getting to know that already. Originally she had wanted me to develop a taste for men by tasting a lot of them, so I'd be as enthusiastic about having sex with them as she claimed to be. But what we both learned from my encounters with Bea's underpants and Pearl's clients was that for me, sex wasn't enough. As Pearl had told me in her usual insulting way, for my heart to become a whore, the price was love and affection.

On Thursday night Bea said she had a special treat for me. When I was already in bed she came into my room and sat down next to me, then took the laciest and most elaborate panties I had ever seen out from a special plastic case that had kept them moist, she said, since the Saturday at the hotel. They had a strong smell, several different smells, really, not really unpleasant. But they had been drenched! Those panties were nearly as stiff as if they had been dipped in cum over and over, the way candles are dipped to build up the wax coating. I asked Bea how many men's cum had soaked into them.

Bea replied with pride and delight, "Just one, dear! Only one man did all this to my panties, in only one single night! A marvelous man! The finest man I've ever known! The one I mentioned to you Sunday night, remember, a Master Dominator who came to the hotel with a fully trained sex-slave, named Eva? I spent all of Saturday night with him, with my little apprentice slave Eddie. His name is Thor. Anything he wanted done, Eva did. Anything! You'd be amazed! And then anything I wanted him to do to me, he did! Quite a few times, some things, when I asked him! I was amazed! All that cum!" She stopped speaking for a moment, overcome by some fleeting memory. "Then by morning," she said suddenly. "Anything he wanted me to do for him, I did. Anything! It was so wonderful!" And then she was silent some more.

I had never seen Bea like this. "Are you all right?" I asked her.

"Oh, yes," she said. She turned to me with half-closed eyes. "Oh yes, dear! Here, Honey, take these panties. I want you to love them the way I do. Pay close attention to all the flavors you find here, spicy, salty, flowery, all of them. Some are what leaked out of my cunt. Some is cum from my rear end. Some of it I wiped off my face and breasts after Thor had finished using them. Some of it I saved in my mouth instead of swallowing it, so you could be sure to taste him too! I want you to know everything you can about Thor's cum, and about the way his cum mixes with my juices. I want you to share my pleasure, and to look forward to it the way I do. I think you'll be tasting a lot more of him from now on, Honey. But we'll talk about that another time."

"I really don't need this, Bea," I said. I must have been feeling a little jealous. "You know that tomorrow, Pearl has a busy schedule. I'm going to have my hands and my mouth full. And my asshole too, I suspect."

"Yes dear, I appreciate that you're a very hard-working girl now, trying to do your best for your employer. But this cum is different. For my sake? Begin by kissing it, and then see where it leads you." And she leaned over and kissed me.

"All right, Bea. For your sake." And with that I took the lace panties and started to kiss them, then suck on them, paying close attention. First the crotch, then the back panels. I was still exploring subtle differences in the scents and tastes here and there, the sticky parts of the cum and the parts that had dried on her smooth, ribboned satin, when I fell asleep. When I woke up, I found that Bea had come in and gently draped the panties over my sleeping face, with the elastic behind my head, so I could breath through them all night.

Friday was more arduous than I had imagined. We ran almost two hours overtime, and when the last client left, smiling, or smirking, or grinning, waving goodbye to Pearl and waving little obscene gestures to me, I was exhausted. My asshole hurt terribly, and I hated to push my butt plug back into it, but I had to, or else come home with the back of my skirt soaked. My mouth was sore, and my jaw ached. Both my hands were cramped from squeezing or jerking people off while sucking on them. At one point I had taken on three corporate partners all at once, because they had gotten drunk at lunch, and then insisted that they share equally in all of the company's dividends.

"Honey, would you come in here a minute, please, dear," Pearl called from her office.

Reluctantly I got up and limped to her door. "Yes, Mrs. Peters?" I said wearily.

"You did some good work for me today, Honey, and I want you to know how much I appreciate it. Here!"

To my astonishment, Pearl slouched way back in her chair, no panties, her legs spread apart, her bush and her slit fully visible. I could even see her clit, erect and poking out of the little folds of skin that normally covered it. I just stared.

"Honey, I said 'Here'! 'Here' means 'here,' right now! Don't tell me you didn't hear me. Today was a good day! I want you to drink a toast to me! Out of me! On your knees, lover girl! Let's see what that tongue of yours has been up to all week, that so many people have been coming in here and signing contracts without even reading them!"

"Pearl, I don't think...."

"Mrs. Peters during office hours, I told you!" Pearl's voice suddenly picked up an edge. "Now Honey, I asked you to do something for me!"

So I went over to her, and I dropped to my knees once again, and buried my face in her snatch, and licked her, and stroked her with my tongue. When my tongue got too tired to move or poke with, I used my nose. Pearl got more and more heated, and started to tremble, and finally she clamped her thighs tightly around my head and began to buck into my face. I was almost knocked off my knees, but I hung on until finally she released me, and I fell to the floor for a moment. Then I stood up and turned, without a word, and began to limp toward the door.

"Honey, I didn't dismiss you yet," Pearl said. "Turn and face me! Look at me!"

I turned and faced her. She was appraising me like a piece of meat.

"That was very good, Honey," she said, in the lightly sarcastic tone that passes for friendliness with Pearl. "You're a real asset to this firm! From now on you'll mop up my cunt last thing every day, as an additional duty, just as you suck off the boys in the morning. Do it with real devotion, and I'll see you get a bonus when you leave my employ. You've got talent, there's no doubt of it. You're like some virtuoso playing a concert between my legs. You feel just great!"

"But there's another reason I want a daily suck from you, and I want you to know it. It's this. Whatever you look like, I know you're a man. Just like my ex, that son of a bitch. Now, I love having a man on his knees in front of me, lapping away on my cunt. It gives me something I can anticipate all day. If you're real good, maybe I'll install you under my desk full time, and get some other whore to take over your other duties."

I didn't want any more trouble. I was out of energy. So all I said was, "Yes, Mrs. Peters. But you'll have to take it up with Bea."

When I finally got home, I told Bea about my day as always, leaving out nothing, and then went upstairs to soak my rear in the tub. Bea came with me, and sprinkled perfumed bubble beads into the hot water, then left me alone and went downstairs. I heard her talking on the phone, and at one point she raised her voice, not angrily, but firmly. Then her voice lowered again, and by the end she was chatting and laughing in her usual friendly way. When she hung up, she came back upstairs and into the bathroom, and sat down on the stool by the sink.

"Honey," she said. "I've just had a long talk with Pearl. You've understood it, I know, that I want you to have lots of sexual experiences with men, to get you used to being a woman, and you can have all the woman-to-woman sex you want too, for the same reason. But just remember, your prick is mine. Any man-to-woman sex you may want, or be asked to perform, is to be with me only, unless I tell you otherwise. If Pearl should ask you to diddle one of her women clients, or herself, find some way to do it without your cock. Remember what I told you when you started working, don't do anything I wouldn't do? Just be sure you don't. Right?"

I just looked at her. I was too tired and sore to respond.

"I just made sure Pearl knows this too, so there's no mistake. She tells me you have a prize-winning tongue. That makes me feel very proud of you. I've always thought so, though I can't say you were ever generous with it before now. When you've finished soaking, put on something tasteful, not another daytime tart outfit, and we'll go out to celebrate your first two weeks spent as a working-girl all by yourself. My treat!"

That cheered me up, some. I had the prettiest little shawl collar dress I was dying to wear, but it was too conservative for Honey. I told Bea, and she smiled. "Then tonight my darling, don't dress up as Honey. Dress up as Henry, my adorable husband who enjoys looking like a woman because he knows I enjoy it, and has good taste in his dresses. It'll be like old times."

So I did. I'd changed a little. When I had gone out with the girls as one of them only a few weeks ago, on Bea's birthday, I still felt like Henry in a dress. Now I felt like a girl in a dress. In fact, after two weeks of moving around in Pearl's office, or swishing down the street on errands, my hips had an exaggeratedly provocative wiggle, my ass pushed out in back and my breasts thrust way forward. Bea had to remind me how ordinary women walk, and by the end of the evening, for the first time in my life I felt like an ordinary woman. That night, Bea invited me into her bed, and I made love to her as Henry, several times. With a difference, of course, because our breasts squashed into each other when we embraced, and while resting between rounds Bea played with my hair style and chatted about changing it to something shorter and more manageable. But I felt happy, like an ordinary girl in love with his wife who feels loved in turn. That's all I really wanted.

Three more weeks as Pearl's personal service receptionist went by like the first two, though they were a little less busy. I suspected that Pearl had set up that second week to be so rushed I wouldn't have time to think of myself as anything but a prostitute turning tricks the way she's told. Well, it worked. That was how I felt. My mouth and my ass were hers, and I used them for her without thinking, the way an auto mechanic uses his hands when asked to do a job. Fucking and sucking and smiling at clients became daily routine requiring no real thought or attention.

Pearl kept urging me to fix my hair or check my makeup, and by the fourth week my hands were always as busy as an orchestral conductor's, patting hairs into place or touching curls into shape, or taking a little mirror out of my purse to stroke on more mascara or lipstick. It became second nature, something I did all the time, altogether unaware of it. Bea commented on it one night, when we were just sitting at home reading while my hands danced all over my face and hair. She said that if I should take up chewing gum, I'd be indistinguishable from any office bimbo waiting to get knocked up and married.

Starting the fourth week, Pearl told me to develop a simple, round, open, girlish handwriting, altogether different from Henry's angular scrawl and more suitable to Honey's character. During my idle hours at my desk, she had me copying statements like "I just love being a girl," and "Fine dressing begins with pretty panties," over and over, until they began to show up in my conversation. Then she said I needed to develop a more romantic imagination, and she got me copying the hot passages from cheap drug store love novels. I looked at the sample passage she marked out for me:

"The candles were burning low by the time I served him coffee," I read, "And his eyes began to burn into mine. I blushed, and my heart beat fiercely beneath my heaving breasts, as he lifted his wine glass to me for one last toast. 'Don't go,' I heard myself saying. 'Please, I need you.' 'And I need you,' he said, rising from his chair and leaning forward toward me. We kissed, and our souls melted into one another, and then our bodies."

"Mrs. Peters," I said, "This is junk. It has nothing to do with my fucking your clients, or cleaning your cunt at the end of the day."

"Honey, you have the wrong attitude," Pearl said. "By the end of next week I want to read a really purple description in your own words of how it feels for you to clean my cunt, as you call it. Just copy lots of these, and let yourself dream. After a while you'll think Mr. Right is reciting sonnets to your eyes while some fat contractor is balling your ass."

So I wrote Pearl a note about the sublime taste, touch, sight, smell, and sound of our closing sessions each day, about longing to touch her woman's mound with my soft, wet tongue, and so forth. She had me correct it as too clinical, or too gushy, or too insincere, until one Friday after I'd been working for her about a month, I got the right amount of passionate sensuality into it, with the right descriptions of tides and heaving oceans and crashing waves for her orgasms, and fireworks in the night sky for mine. In fact I couldn't take any of this seriously, this busywork for receptionists to chew gum by, as Bea called it. But Pearl's emotion-starved life apparently thrived on it. Or else her cynicism.

Which may be why one Friday night she came carrying my one-page sampler into the coffee room while I was cleaning up the week's spilled coffee and cum, and told me to lie down on my back while she rewarded me, because I had gotten the experience of licking her cunt just perfect. She had a 'special treat' in mind. It turned out to be simple. First she sat down on my hips and lowered herself onto my cock, which rose up stiff just in time for her cunt to surround and overwhelm it. Then she humped me until I came. Then she slid forward and sat on my face until I sucked all of my own juice out of her, and hers too. "There," she said when she was through with me. "Taste good? Nice work. Next week I want to see a love letter about your prick in my cunt, in Honey's handwriting."

That was all there was to it, but it ended my career as Pearl's slut girl. It meant nothing, and I told Bea about it, the way I told her everything. Again she got Pearl on the phone while I soaked in the tub. This time I couldn't hear voices, but after a while Bea came in, looking serious.

"Well, I forgive you, this one time, Honey," she began.

I looked at her astonished. What had I done wrong?

"Pearl told me she took advantage of you. She knew you were too tired to think an hour or so ago, and that you don't think about sex in her office at all anyhow, you just do it, like some gas station attendant pumping gas, or some car getting gas pumped into it. She thought you didn't know she'd fucked you until after it was too late."

She'd fucked me? I was bewildered! When? Suddenly I realized she really had! And wanted me to get romantic about it in writing!

Bea continued. "She also told me she'd gotten curious just how submissive you actually are, whether you'll obey any orders no matter what. Also, she said, she'd just had a good week, and you'd just made her cunt feel like Christmas Candy with something you written, and she was feeling horny. I can understand that. She thinks it's just marvelous what I've done to you, that now you'll do anything I ask. So I told her about your spending the night kissing panties soaked in Thor's cum, and she was impressed."

"But now it's over. Honey, I shouldn't have let you stray so far from home while I'm training you. You're already too passive and impressionable. And I mean for you to become much more so! Really, I want you to end up doing anything I ask you to do, with your whole soul, and loving it! From now on you need supervision."

"Pearl knew that your penis is my private property, that you were not supposed to be intimate with any woman other than me, but she's just naturally contrary. I told her that those lesbian businesswomen you slurp up were just fine, but that there shouldn't have been any fucking with your prick, even with her. She apologized. So I forgave her. Of course I told her that she'd have to terminate you as of today, with two week's severance pay. And she agreed."

"Anyhow, my dear, you've just had one more feminine experience. You've been sexually harassed by your Boss. But now you're a lady at liberty, a real lady this time, not just Steve's crossdressing paramour, and you're free to fulfill some of my other plans for you. You've worked as a woman, and you've had sex with quite a few men, different kinds of sex. Some was fun and some certainly not as pleasant as the sex you've enjoyed with Steve. I suspect you've gained in self-confidence as a result of your experiences. Those are a lot of pluses."

"So get out of that tub and put on your prettiest dress. We'll go out to dinner again, just the two of us. And then I want to bring you home, and put you in my bed, and make love to you again. All night. Let's call this your graduation ceremony as a working girl. That part of your life is over, I think. We'll talk about the next phase soon. Trust me, dear girl, I do have wonderful plans for you! I've made you what you are thus far, and you'll love what you're going to become. Not always at first. But you'll see! I promise!"

 

Chapter Ten: More Proposals
(in which the ladies arrange further ways
to improve our heroine)

After I left Pearl's employment things quieted down a bit. That Saturday morning -- well it was not exactly morning anymore, closer to early afternoon when I woke up in Bea's bed and began to make myself presentable. While lying luxuriously in my scented bubble bath, I let my mind drift back over what I had been and what I had become. All in all it was lovely, this experimental living like a woman. Bea had wanted it -- still did -- and I had no regrets. But I had to reverse the process now, and change myself back into a man. I owed it to myself. I knew that with my body and especially my face the way they were, it would be a long process. Making me this way had taken about a year, so I figured reverting to my former status would probably take another year. I patted myself dry, and dusted some fragrant body powder all over, and slipped on some tight jeans that showed off my tush, and a loose shirt that hid my boobs for once, and I just lightly coated my red lips with Vaseline to make them glisten, and I fixed my hair nicely. I wanted to look attractive to Bea, to show there were no hard feelings about what she had done to me, that I appreciated it, but enough was enough. I sat down with Bea to discuss how we could undo what had been done.

But Bea didn't want to hear it. She already had the next phase of my life planned out for me. "No," she said firmly, as soon as she realized what I was about to propose, "Are you still on that subject? Forget it! Just look at yourself! I want you just as you are. I want a girlfriend and a lover, someone who'll share things that most matter to me. I don't want that husband again, ignoring me, or trying to take charge of things. Never again! I'm in charge now!"

I was surprised at how upset she was. She got up and paced the room, and she spoke her thoughts almost at random. "I've missed you the past few weeks, Honey. Some mornings I was having so much fun with you I hated it when the time came for you to put on your suits, or mini-dresses, and your heels, to waggle your ass off to the office to whore for Pearl's clients. Then when you came home, you seemed so tired and dispirited I couldn't ask you to play girly games with me. But now I don't want to share you any more, unless I myself decide when, where and with whom."

"I want you to be my companion, but I want to train you to be a much more attentive and respectful companion than you've ever been, and that'll take lots of patience and effort. For years I was your obedient and dutiful wife, so it's only fair for you to be mine now. Don't you agree? From now on I want you waiting for me when I come home, looking your prettiest. Especially when I come home with some new man who needs to be impressed that I'm no one to trifle with. Think of the effect on any man who's trying to make out with me, who sees you and hears you were once my husband, and learns that I did this to you because you were unsatisfactory. From that moment he'll be devoted to pleasing me, much more careful to see that I'm satisfied."

Bea smiled to herself, and then smiled over at me. "Besides, if you're here all the time, you'll be able to keep the house picked up, and save me a lot of bother."

She stopped pacing and came close to stand over me. I looked up at her, and she looked down. "I see no reason for you to change back, except some misplaced force of habit. You are quite happy with your life, now, aren't you?" It was obviously a rhetorical question, and she didn't wait for me to answer her. "Yes, you are happy. I can see that. You love your dresses, and looking pretty, and wearing perfume, and attracting men. You love to flirt, I've seen it. I take good care of you. You have no burdens, no responsibilities, not a worry in the world. Of course you're happy. You can't want to change back."

I tried to tell her I'd also enjoyed my former life as a man, and that it had its positive sides too, and that it was only natural for me to return to being a man.

She didn't let me finish. "Honey," she said, "Look at you! You're a woman, not a man. You're a much nicer woman, much more desirable, than Henry ever was as a man. Of course you weren't unhappy to be Henry, you didn't know any better. But look where we were headed, straight toward separation and divorce. And now look. We're closer than we've ever been."

"Why not think of it this way? Even if you were just as happy being Henry as you are being Honey, even if the two lifestyles were equally enjoyable -- which isn't the case at all, but let's just suppose it was -- wouldn't it be right for you to choose the lifestyle that was better for both of us? Don't you feel an obligation to choose a lifestyle that makes me happy too? Of course you do."

"So, that's that! I don't want to hear anything more about this silly notion of yours, to give up a happy life for both of us just to return to something that already has failed." She said this with the finality of a judge. I could almost see her bring down the gavel. She then looked silently at me for some time, waiting for what she had just said to sink in.

I couldn't tell her that I didn't care how she felt, because that wasn't true. I cared very much for her, and I supposed that I really should take her feelings into account more than I had in the past, in my former life. But I had better wait before bringing up this subject again, I thought. Better go on as she wanted right now. She's upset right now. So I nodded agreement to her last question. "I want you to be happy, Bea," I said simply.

Bea looked at me a moment longer, then sat down again. "All right. Just so I know you understand. Now, here's where we go from here. You've been Pearl's helper. Now you can be mine. I think you should stay here and take care of the house work, to free me for my other work. You don't really need money, but I'll pay you a regular salary, and that'll give me a tax break. Good idea?"

I nodded my consent.

"I'm glad you see it the same way I do. Actually the house isn't too much work, and with your usual efficiency you'll do it in no time. Let's try it for the rest of the time you need for your make-up to wear off, let's say six months -- OK?"

After working in Pearl's office, I was glad to stay quietly at home for a while. And Bea's reference to my make-up wearing off sounded hopeful. "OK," I said, "Six months. I agree."

"Wonderful. Now we have a deal. You'll have time to help me with my other work too. You can sort of be my girl Friday. For example, I'll be hosting the next meeting of our Literary Society in two weeks, and there're lots of things to prepare. The guest speaker will be Nicolai Voloshov."

She looked at me as if she had announced "Robert Redford." I had no idea who this Nicolai Someone was and my face showed it.

"Of course you wouldn't know him, my pretty little air-head. Cultural matters are beyond you." I started protesting that literature was her field and I had my own, but she continued. "Voloshov is the most controversial and exciting of the new Russian poets. I did a long critical article on him not long ago, on his brilliance and originality. He's living in this country with a Boston lady who likes to support deserving artists. You could handle all the details of his visit, arrange interviews with the local media, and show him around town. Wouldn't you love to do that?"

I liked the idea. It sounded interesting, and would get me out of the house, where I could meet new people.

"But first you need to look more suitable. To work at Pearl's office you needed to be -- well, let's say 'thought-provoking' for any man who saw you. A foxy slut with red hair and red lipstick and bedroom eyes and a walk that looked like a stripper with a rotating ass. Now you need a different look. Monday we'll visit Celeste, and see if she can make you a straw blonde again, maybe with a few highlights. Then we'll need to get you some clothes that are more appropriate, too."

Her plans were made, and there was nothing more to discuss. We spent the rest of the day puttering around the house. It was a very pleasant Saturday, actually. At night she took me to her bed again, and our love-making was as gentle and tender as the day we had just spent. For the first time since her birthday, I was feeling at peace and in control of myself again.

Sunday morning I didn't want to get up at all. I wanted to prolong the previous night as long as possible, and I kept Bea occupied by all means available to me. I conscientiously cleaned our body fluids off her with my tongue, all kinds of fluids, and then we made many more. But she finally put an end to it by reminding me I had to fix myself up. The girls would be over at four for our usual Sunday hen-party. She literally threw me out of bed. I went downstairs to prepare a light brunch for us both.

At four o'clock, right on the dot, I heard Pearl's Mercedes in the driveway. I was in my room, primping before the mirror, checking everything for the last time. Bea had insisted on lacing me into the Victorian corset again, so if I had to suffer the svelte figure it gave me, I wanted to make the most of it. So I was wearing a rather tight beige sweater that showed off my bust, and an ankle-length skirt of reddish brown wool. I cinched my waist with a wide brown belt, to accentuate how it had slimmed down. I felt dressy, but not overdone, just right for an afternoon at home with friends. Most extraordinary were the shoes Bea gave me to mark my new role in her life, a pair of sensible brown oxfords complete with the traditional patterns, laced high on the instep -- but with five inch stiletto heels. They were stunning, and I was sure Kay and Pearl would be jealous. Of course I couldn't walk any distance once they were on my feet, but most of the afternoon I would be sitting, and I was amused that the shoes displayed me to be a woman who was poised, tasteful, cultured, but even so, fuckable.

Bea had already greeted Pearl and Kay when I made my grand entrance, walking slowly down the stairs, swinging my hips and lifting my long skirt just a bit to draw attention to my shoes. They were not unnoticed. Kay and Pearl at once complimented me on them, and on my walk, and I felt proud to be appreciated. "Thank you, ladies," I smiled, and did a little curtsy to both of them. "You are very kind." I was the epitome of a well-bred girl. I went on to the kitchen to bring in coffee, and then I served them, and again smiled nicely while asking, "Do you care for cream or milk, and perhaps sugar?"

I played 'daughter-of-a-good-family' to the hilt, and could feel how all eyes followed my every move until I had served everybody and then sat down myself. With my corset and those heels I couldn't sit in the deep cushions of the sofa, and had to choose to sit very straight in an old-fashioned straight backed chair. But that gave me even further opportunity to cross my ankles, display my legs, and show off my shoes. When I finally seated myself, Pearl broke the long silence by asking, "Is that it? Do we applaud now?" Then normal conversation resumed. I'd made the impression I'd wanted to make.

Bea reported on her plans for the Literary Society meeting, and that she had commissioned me to take care of the guest of honor. She explained how she meant to change my looks.

Pearl disagreed at first. "She looks very attractive right now, and she proved it during the past few weeks. No man who looks at her can keep his hands off her, and no women either, of a certain kind."

"That's exactly what I want to change, Pearl," Bea said firmly, her meaning unmistakable. "Now she needs to look like a proper secretary, someone who works with her mind, not only her butt."

Kay agreed. "Honey has a very attractive backside, if I do say so myself," she said. "The hormones I prescribed were designed to make Honey look sexy coming and going, to give her both tits and an ass. Now she can just sit on it for a while, I suppose. But that doesn't mean we can't improve her looks a little in other ways. Especially if she's going back to her original hair color, we could enhance her other features to compensate. It would take only very minor alterations. For instance, we could raise her eyebrows just a little bit, and arch them, opening her eyes more and removing little creases here and there." She got up and demonstrated what she meant on my face. "And we could enhance her lips just a wee bit, make them just a little fuller. She'd look ten years younger then. Less like a slut, more like a doll. When does the poet laureate fly in? In two weeks? We have just enough time to do it so all traces of the operation will have vanished. Our new Honey will look better than new."

I was not at all eager to have these women make further changes in me. I already had boobs, and curves where they weren't welcome except to men, and that made returning to my former self difficult enough. A beauty-operation on my face would only make me look more feminine. But I knew Bea and her friends. Any show of resistance, and they'd overwhelm me, and who knew what else they'd start recommending? I sat silent, hoping Bea would think enough was enough.

To my dismay Bea found the idea well worth considering, and said so. Pearl was of course all for it; she liked my getting more "kissable lips," and she commented that a fuller mouth would also enhance my cocksucking if I should ever want to return to that as a career. After discussing the pros and cons, they all agreed that I should see Kay in the morning and have my face rearranged.

I felt so helpless with these domineering women. For months I'd been conditioned to be sweetly compliant, and now I had no strength to oppose them.

I tried. "Now wait a minute," I said. "I like my face the way it is!"

It was as if I'd said nothing at all. They simply paid no attention. They'd already agreed among themselves what was in my own best interest. As previously, I finally gave in.

"Actually," Kay continued, not yet done, "While we're at it, we could do a little more. You see, I've already reduced her hormone dosage to the level she needs now to maintain the figure she's got. And that's not too bad a figure, for a girl who's new at it."

They all glanced at me appreciatively. I sat very still.

"But we could make her body even more nice and round and feminine in all the right places by redistributing some of her adipose tissue. I've recently begun using a new minimum incision process, and we don't need to make any cuts that will be noticeable later on. We merely enter with a probe through the folds of her belly-button, remove the fat at her waist, and re-deposit it on her bum and her breasts. Since it's all the body's own substance, there are no adverse reactions, and the whole thing heals very quickly."

"But," I broke in, "I mean -- can it be removed again? I mean when I go back to being a man, later on? I mean, if I want to?" It sounded doubtful. So did I.

Kay exchanged a quick glance with Bea, and then assured me, "If you really want it removed again, I can do it. Just think about it this way. If I can remove fatty tissue from your waist, I can remove it from other places too. The only permanent change will be that you won't grow a spare tire around your middle, because there won't be fat cells there to swell up. And this would most certainly not be a change for the worse. You should be happy with that. However, with the additional fat deposits on your bum and your bosom, I must warn you not to eat too much. You could easily grow to formidable proportions in those areas."

Her explanation sounded logical, and eased doubts despite my unease. "OK then," I said, still a little uncomfortable. "Just do your best."

"Good girl!" Bea applauded my decision. "And for being such a good girl, I'll give you a little reward. I'm not telling you now what it'll be, I don't want to ruin the surprise, just this much: It'll be sparkling."

I ruled out diamonds, of course, but a nice cold bottle of Champagne or even Spumante on a romantic night with Bea was something to look forward to, so I gave her a sweet smile. "Alright, love," I said. "I'll hold you to that and I'm looking forward to it."

That much settled, Bea then spoke in glowing terms of the great poet Nicolai Voloshov, who would give a reading in two weeks.

"Well what can we gain from listening to a Russian poet?" asked Pearl. "I don't speak Russian and neither does anyone else I know."

"He speaks perfect English. In fact he worked at the Soviet Foreign Ministry in the translation department for a long time before he became known for his poetry. He also speaks German and French, but English best. He has translated all of his own work. And I hear he is quite a lady's man, so even if you aren't much interested in modern Russian poetry, you might gain something from his visit." Bea said this with a meaningful side-look at Pearl.

The party went on for some time longer. But Kay thought that in view of the early morning operation tomorrow, we should all go to bed early. "Just wait, Honey," she said to me when they were leaving. "I'll make you look scrumptious, at least ten years younger! As cute as a Barbie doll. Just trust me!"

We went to bed right after they left, and Bea tucked me in after she checked the lacing on my corset and tied my hands in back as usual. "I'm sure that with your slimmer waist we'll be able to lace you down even further," she said. "You'll have a sensational figure." I didn't want to hear that. I had figured that with a smaller natural waist, the corset would not be so uncomfortable. Maybe I could persuade her to relent when the time came.

Chapter Eleven: Prissy
(in which our heroine acquires a new name
and new household responsibilities)

 

Well, I'll pass over the next week. It was altogether very unpleasant. When I came to after the operation, I ached all over and looked like a 4000 year old mummy, all bandaged up. I could have gone home after a few days, but we thought it would better if I stayed at the hospital for the entire week, until the bandages could be removed. Kay told me the bandages were not covering wounds, since there were none, but were necessary to hold the redeposited fat in position until it could grow into its new locations. My face was discolored and swollen around the eyes and the mouth, and looked perfectly ugly, but Kay assured me that would disappear within a few short days, and she proved to be right. After a week almost all traces of the operation had disappeared.

Bea came to pick me up, and was present when Kay removed the bandages. She started from the bottom up, and right away I could see that my bottom was nicely rounded, really feminine, with soft round cheeks. Bea loved it, and complimented Kay for the wonderful result.

"Wait till you see the rest," Kay said. She proceeded to unwrap my waist. "Look," she said, "all of four inches less!"

"Wonderful, just marvelous," Bea gushed.

Kay continued the unwrapping. "Now for the 'grande finale', the big surprise! Ta Ta Ta Taaaa!" she trumpeted in a flourish while undoing the last winding from my breasts.

When she stepped aside so I could look into the mirror, I saw it! I had full, round breasts that were almost perfectly spherical. But most surprising was that they each sported a golden ring through the nipples, a bit larger than half an inch in diameter. They were slim, about 1/16 of an inch where they went through my nipples but wider toward their lower half, about an eighth of an inch where they hung down prettily and curved around the nipples' lower halves. There, inserted into their surfaces were three little diamonds, not on the edge facing downward as with rings worn on fingers, but on the side facing forward. When I touched the rings, the diamonds felt almost flush with the surrounding gold.

"That is the surprise I promised you," said Bea. "Don't they sparkle?"

They did indeed. I was flabbergasted. I looked into the mirror, and looked down, and tried to find out how Kay had done it. It looked as if I had been born with them. I turned then very cautiously in their holes through the nipples, to find an opening or the trace of a joint, or something. But the surfaces of both rings were perfectly polished and even. "How did you do it" I asked Kay.

"Well, since we had you under full anaesthetic and you were to be bandaged for a few days anyway, I simply slit open the nipples and taped them shut over the rings. By now the little incisions have had time enough to heal. There is no way to get them off except slicing open the nipples again -- which I wouldn't recommend. I think they look just lovely."

"Yes darling, they do look marvelous," Bea chimed in. "So delicate! Better than I had imagined. I just might get myself a set of my own. And look! The breasts have come out just gorgeous! Look here, let's do the pencil test." She rummaged though her bag and came up with a yellow pencil, held it under one of my breasts, raised it a little and then let it fall back. Then she let go of the pencil. It fell down. "See what I mean," she said, beaming at me. "You must be feeling so proud! Lots of young girls can't pass this test. And your breasts are now C or D cup, too! Oh, they look so yummy! Steve will go nuts over your new figure when he sees it, don't you think so, Kay?"

Why did she have to bring up Steve -- and in front of Kay too? But Kay didn't seem put off at all. "I'm sure Steve will like her even better now," she said. "He's always been a big tit man. And Honey's are just gorgeous!"

I had to admit that my tits looked seductive! Together with my narrower waist and my newly rounded bottom, I had a feminine figure many girls would die for. I raised my eyes to study my face. I hadn't thought that my face could be any more feminine than it had been, but it was true, now it was even more so, and a lot prettier too. I had full pouty lips, and my nose looked smaller, and my eyes seemed to be much bigger, more almond shaped. I saw the face of a very good-looking, even beautiful woman, refined and well cared for. No trace of masculinity at all. I wondered how in the world I could ever look masculine again.

"I suggest we let her face rest for a few more days, and then that you take her to Celeste and have her make-up renewed. Then she'll be perfect," Kay said to Bea, who had started dressing me.

I couldn't turn away from the mirror. Was that really me?

"Enough of this self-admiration for now," said Bea. "Yes, sweetie, you are beautiful. But now we've got to go." She held a corset against my back, and tried to wrap it around me. "Here, you hook up the front."

I tried, but it was quite a struggle. My corsets should have fit me more easily, now that I was so much thinner. Had Bea already gotten me new corsets, to lace me even tighter? It seemed so. I felt no less crushed than before. Panties and stockings followed. Bea brought forward a pretty, floral print shirt-waist dress, and when I put it on I cinched it with a wide, black patent leather belt. I had to admit, I had a marvelous figure now. High heeled shoes, gloves made from a thick cotton lace, and a large scarf wound turban-like around my head -- my hair looked really shaggy after more than a week in bed -- completed the outfit. Then off we went, kissing Kay good-by.

"You have to thank her, Honey, she created a masterpiece," Bea reminded me. I agreed, I looked marvelous. But it was me, and I didn't want to look marvelous -- I wanted to look more like a man. Even so, I thanked Kay profusely for all she had done for me.

"Don't mention it," Kay said. "I love it when my work turns out so well. That's reward enough in itself." She hugged me, and gave me a friendly slap on my bottom.

Bea decided not to go home directly. Instead she went to the shopping district, and stopped in front of a store that displayed all kinds of work uniforms in its windows. There were uniforms for security guards, nurses, chauffeurs, all kinds of servants and attendants.

"What do you want here?" I asked her.

"Come on," she came around to my side of the car and opened my door. "I think that now, now that you've taken over the domestic duties in our home, you should dress the part." She took my arm and guided me into the store.

"What do you mean -- dress the part?"

"Well, if you're going to be my maid, shouldn't you dress like one?"

"Bea, you can't be serious! I mean, we're wife and husband together in our house. I'm our maid, maybe, not just your maid. Besides, why can't I do my housework in ordinary dresses?"

"I am quite serious, Honey. Your dresses are still quite new, and it would be a shame for them to get soiled doing ordinary housework. Most of them aren't even washable, and would have to be sent out to be dry-cleaned. That's expensive. Now a maid's uniform is made for the purpose. It can be washed frequently, and it will stand up to a lot of abuse."

"Furthermore, and this is very important, a maid's uniform will denote our new relationship. Remember, you agreed to let me hire you? I am your employer, and since we're so close normally, it's good for us to clarify our relationship with an outwardly recognizable sign, like a uniform. Whenever you wear it, you'll be in no doubt that I'm your employer and you are the hired domestic."

I was not at all sure that I liked this idea. But already we were approached by a sales lady asking if she could help us. "Yes," said Bea. "This young person with me needs a whole set of maid's uniforms, and all the accessories. I think three morning uniforms in light grey, blue and pink, and aprons to go with them, perhaps a half a dozen, and some nice caps too. Then she'll need something for afternoon and evening wear, I think very dark blue or black dresses with lacy aprons. All of these should be tight and figure fitting -- she has such a nice figure, it would be a shame to hide it."

"It would be a shame indeed -- come here, Dearie, and let me take your measurements." She took my bust size and looked appreciatively at the measuring tape. "Quite nice" she stated, and then wound the tape around my waist. "Wow!" She looked at the tape, then at me. "Do you always wear a waist cincher that's this tight, dear? I mean, should we have all of your uniforms made to this waist-size?"

I didn't understand her, but Bea did. "Of course she always wears a corset. She is so proud of her small waist."

"Well then ...." The sales lady shrugged, and wrote down the numbers. "There isn't much choice among our utility, day-time maid's uniforms," she informed Bea. "They all have A-line skirts going down to just below the knee. The dressier uniforms offer a wider choice. There are some designed to be rather mini, and others that reach to the knee, and some are three-quarter length. Then we have a really historical model, the kind a proper upstairs maid would have worn in the 'Gay Nineties,' floor length with several rustling petticoats underneath. I think your young domestic would look fantastic in it, with her small corseted waist."

"Let's see!" Bea followed the sales-lady as she went to the back of the store, and motioned for me to come along. Then I never saw her act more decisively. With no hesitation she picked out three morning uniforms and six different styles of more formal wear in black and dark blue, plus the Victorian special, which really did look wonderful when the sales-lady held it up to me. Then before I could venture any opinion, Bea progressed to the aprons, and selected a dozen different styles, from strong utility aprons to pinafores with wide, flouncey shoulder straps, to frilly lacy confections which were purely feminine and decorative. She then swiftly selected a variety of caps, some covering the hair entirely, some just wispy starched lace things that had to be pinned to the hair.

I tried to get a word in now and then, but she was not to be distracted, and she ignored me completely, discussing her selections only with the sales-lady. The only thing I was allowed to do is to carry everything to the front of the store, and there was so much I had trouble peering over the pile in my arms.

"How can you decide on these things so quickly?" I asked Bea, amazed.

"Oh, I've been thinking about this moment for quite some time now," she said. "For months, in fact." I was about to ask her to explain that amazing statement, but the sales lady interrupted.

"Of course, none of our standard sizes will fit your maid right now," she said, "But we can alter them in no time at all. If you'll leave the dresses here, you can have everything by tomorrow afternoon. It's mainly a matter of taking in the waist."

"That sounds just perfect," Bea said. "But I want her to try on at least one, just to be sure."

"Of course, she should." The sales-lady directed us to a changing room, and Bea gave me one of the dark afternoon uniforms.

"Here,": said Bea. "Put this one on and then let me see how you look."

I went in to change, and then presented myself. Bea added a white, lace edged apron, and fastened a little cap to my hair. The dress hugged my round derriere, and then tapered tightly down to just above the knees. It had a high neck which ended in a little lace stand-up collar. The sleeves ended in lace cuffs just above the elbows. All in all, it fit quite well, except at the waist, but the apron strings snugged it so my small waistline was still quite noticeable. Though I felt a little demeaned to be trying on a servant's uniform, I was pleased that the curve from my waist around my hips was quite noticeable. Bea decided that I should wear this one home, cap and all. "For new beginnings, dear," she said, "There's no time like the present." And she carried off the dress I had worn into the store, so I had no alternative.

"You see," the sales-lady said to me, "All of the accessories are fastened with snaps, so you can take them off easily, and wash them separately, and replace them quickly. That way, your mistress will always see you wearing a fresh apron, even when you're coming directly from the kitchen to serve her guests dishes you were preparing moments before."

"All right, let's add up what we owe you." Bea steered me to the cashier's desk, and the sales lady busied herself for a few minutes adding up the sale. It came to a substantial figure. "Honey, is this your credit card?" She took my billfold out of my purse and gave the card to the sales-lady.

"Wait a minute, Bea," I protested. "I don't want these things, so why should I pay for them? This'll practically clean me out."

"You have to pay for them, dear. If the payment comes from your account, it can be called your personal business expense, tax deductible against your wages. But even if not, you don't expect your mistress to pay for her servant's personal belongings, do you?"

Again she had me where she wanted me. Not only was I to wear maid's uniforms at home from now on, I had to pay for them myself. I had to hand it to Bea, she was really ingenious in getting her own way. I looked into one of the store's big mirrors while the sales lady processed and cleared my credit card, and I had to admit that I looked nice. Trim, even a little sexy, a neat girl ready to perform gracefully whatever she was asked to do. In a way it was thrilling.

The sales-lady handed me the slip to sign. "The card reads 'Henry'," she said. "Are you sure you can sign for it, deary?"

Bea spoke right up. "Of course she can, she is Henry," she said. I wanted to sink into the ground.

The sales lady looked at me, and then at Bea, not knowing what to make of this last statement, and then she looked at me again with a wide, incredulous smile. "You're Henry?," she asked. "That's remarkable! Sign right here, 'Henry'." She checked my signature against the card, looked at me yet again, smiled, and handed Bea both the sales slip and the credit card. "I'm sure you'd better keep these," she said. "Thank you for letting me serve you."

And she piled onto me all those things that didn't need alteration. They mounted well over my head, and I peered around them as she held the door open for both of us. "Goodbye, madame. Goodbye, Miss Henry. Have a nice day," she said.

Bea walked straight to the car without looking back, leaving me to follow as best I could. Then she got behind the wheel, handed me the car keys, and said in a firm, authoritative voice, "Put everything in the trunk. Then when we get home, hang them carefully in your closet. I expect you to take good care of them, and to look properly presentable at all times from now on."

Not a request, an order. My new career as Bea's domestic servant had begun. The sales lady still stood in the door, looking at us, still smiling. Bea smiled back, and waved her hand as we departed.

When we arrived home Bea told me to bring everything up to my room, then to freshen up and make my hair presentable, and then to appear downstairs for further instructions. I sat down at the vanity and brushed my hair, and pinned it into an up-sweep, and arranged my curls in a becoming way. Then I perched the maid's cap atop the curls so it looked cute, even saucy. I liked it. There in the mirror was my new image, a pretty servant girl, pert and a bit sexy, not overdone, not a caricature. I smiled at me, and the pretty girl in the mirror smiled back. Somehow that gave me a thrill. I felt a little stirring of excitement between my legs.

Bea was sitting on the sofa with her legs crossed, watching me come down the stairs. "Come over here, let me have a look at you," she said in a voice that was somehow kind yet impersonal. She directed me to a spot in the middle of the room. "Stand there." She let her eyes roam over me for about a minute. "Turn around -- slowly -- again -- turn again." She made me turn several more times, always watching me intently, until finally I was facing her once more.

"Yes," she said. "You turned out just as I'd hoped. Actually, better. I want you to keep those pretty eyes wide open always, the way they are now, the way Kay shaped them. It suggests a naivete quite charming in a maid. And those pouting lips are very becoming. You exceed my expectations."

"Very well." She straightened up and began to speak with a crisp assurance that had me listening closely. "Let me lay out the ground-rules for your employment here."

"One: You get up 30 minutes before me, that is at 7:30, and you get yourself ready -- meaning you thoroughly clean inside and out, and you do your hair in a style that's practical for housework -- that up-sweep will do very well, or a French Twist if you like. Just remember that we can't have it floating romantically off your shoulders, the way you wore it when you were seducing Bea's clients. You'll then dress in one of your morning uniforms and get breakfast ready for me. If I need any personal services in the morning, like getting my clothes laid out or helping me get dressed, I'll let you know."

"Two: I'll have all my meals in the dining-room from now on, and you will be serving them. You can eat in the kitchen whenever you like. But I warn you: do not gain weight, or I'll have to put you on a very strict diet."

"Three: After breakfast you'll start cleaning the house, and do the washing, ironing, whatever needs to be done. Then you'll cook my lunch and serve it at about 1:00 pm. After you clear the table and do the dishes, you'll have two hours of free time. You can rest, or read one of the women's magazines I've subscribed to for you, 'The Happy Homemaker' always has recipes you'll want to try out, and 'Romantic Confessions' has stories that satisfy the desires and yearnings maids always seem to have. Then you'll get dressed in one of your dark afternoon uniforms. Which one or which style depends on the occasion. I'll let you know if I think you have chosen an inappropriate style. At 4:00 pm you'll serve me coffee in my office. Oh, incidentally, I've converted Henry's den into an office for me. Henry no longer lives here."

"Four: I work here, and I do not wish to be disturbed. So whatever you do, do it in such a way that I hear and see as little as possible. You have your tasks and I have mine. I have no inclination to instruct you how to keep house. You are paid to know what to do, and you will have to find out for yourself what you don't know. That includes everything from where we keep the bleach to what temperature is proper for ironing a blouse. As of today, the housekeeping is entirely your responsibility, and I want nothing to do with it. I will provide you with a budget for the food and supplies you'll need, and you'll account for your expenditures periodically. I expect the house to be clean, and my clothes in perfect shape at all times. How you manage it is your affair."

"Five: I want to see you perfectly groomed and dressed at all times -- of course not while you are scrubbing the kitchen floor, for example, but before and after. And certainly, when you serve my meals I will want to see clean uniforms and aprons. Expect to change aprons at least three times a day, so they always look freshly starched, particularly if you're wearing one of your nice pinafores with those flouncey shoulder-straps."

"Six: You will address me as 'Madame' at all times and in the third person, as for example, 'would Madame like another cup of coffee?' I am always your employer even when you are off duty, and you will always show me appropriate respect. We are no longer social equals. Forget that I was once married to your former self, and that you once called me 'Bea.' Now, whenever you enter a room I'm in, you will curtsy at the door, except while serving meals or beverages. When you address me, you will always curtsy before you start to speak, and ask permission. When I give you an order -- and you may regard all of my requests as orders no matter how politely I phrase them -- you will acknowledge it by curtsying and answering something like 'very well Madame,' or 'I'll do it right away, Madame,' or whatever else may be appropriate."

"Seven: At night I'll let you know when your services are no longer required. From then on you may dress as you please and do whatever you wish. If I want your companionship, I'll let you know. You must understand, that our relationship from this moment is strictly that of employer and employee. I am your mistress and you are my servant. Your days off are a half-day Wednesday afternoon after lunch, and the weekend from Saturday after lunch to Monday morning. How you use that free time is up to you. If you should consent to pass those hours with male companionship, I will expect the men to be drawn from your own station in life, and you are absolutely forbidden to allow them into the house."

During this entire soliloquy I was standing where she had directed me, in the middle of the room, listening attentively, while she sat in front of me and while she spoke, stared straight into my eyes to impress upon me that she meant every word. I was astonished, even a little outraged! For a moment I couldn't speak at all. Then I began. "Bea," I said, "There's no way I'll ever agree to...."

"OHH?" she interrupted sharply, drawing out the sound with measured anger. "Forgetting the rules so soon? If you want to say anything, start with a curtsy and ask whether you may speak! And refer to me with proper respect!"

She looked at me with her face fixed in a fury, and all of my courage evaporated.

"This one time I'll answer your objection before you have a chance to be impertinent and raise it. Yes, you agreed to be employed by me for domestic service, the Sunday before you went to the Kay's clinic to have your face and figure enhanced. I said I would hire you to do all the house work, and that I would pay you a regular salary, for tax purposes and other advantages. And you agreed. Don't tell me you don't remember."

Now it came back to me, that was what she'd said. I clearly remembered the tax angle.

"Now, whether it is written or verbal, an agreement is an agreement. You can't back out of your commitments without appearing contemptible to everyone, and you may be sure I would make well known what your word is worth, after you'd packed up and left this house in disgrace. Our agreement was quite clear, that you would do domestic service here for at least six months. You agreed, and I hold you to this agreement."

Yes, she had said something about the six months it would take for the make-up to wear off, and I remembered feeling good about it, that afterward she might let me return to being Henry.

"Now, as your employer I make the rules for your employment. What I've just laid down are my rules. I'm not asking you to do anything you can't do. I'm not asking you to do anything that domestic servants haven't done for generations. There is nothing extraordinary about what I ask of you, unless it's in the extraordinary amount of time I allow you to be left to your own devices. My rules may seem a little old-fashioned, but they serve well to emphasize the difference between your station and mine in our relationship. Only by drawing a clear line between our previous private lives together and our present relationship as employer and employee can this work."

"You should be grateful to have a position like this. You've already proven to yourself that you don't like the kind of office work for which you are best qualified, and if you don't want to work the street, there is nothing much else for you. For you to become a domestic servant and work for me is certainly better than your working in an altogether strange household, where no one appreciates that there is more to you than meets the eye."

"Well then, make up your mind. Will you abide by our agreement, or do I have to throw you out."

Bea had a way of pointing out choices that made it really simple to choose. "OK," I said. "I'll go along with you."

"What!?"

"Yes, Madame," I said slowly. "As you wish."

"And...?"

I stared at Bea a moment, and then realized what she was driving at. I curtsied.

"Yes," Bea said. "As I wish. That is the way it is. I'm glad you can still listen to reason."

My new Mistress now relaxed. She leaned back against the couch cushions and became almost friendly in her tone of voice. "Now, we have to decide what to call you. 'Honey' is no longer suitable, no more than 'Henry' was suitable once you decided to live your life as a woman."

I couldn't remember any such decision, but I realized that this minor correction was not worth the curtsy and request for permission to speak that it entailed.

"I cannot call my maid 'Honey,'" Bea said. "I think 'Priscilla' would be a nice name for a proper, respectable maid, 'Prissy' for short. Don't you agree?"

I knew there would be no point in arguing with her, so with a deep sigh -- as deep a sigh as my stays allowed -- I nodded my consent.

"Wonderful! My dear Priscilla, that is your new name! I'm so pleased you like it as much as I do! Now I'll see that it becomes your only legal name. I want all of your records to show that your name is 'Priscilla'! Social Security card, early school records, everything! I think with Pearl's help we can even get you a driver's license with your picture and the name 'Priscilla.' She knows one of the key people at the Motor Vehicle Bureau. In fact, from what she's told me, you know him too, perhaps not by name but by the taste of his cum."

Her reference to my previous employment embarrassed me. "I can't recall, Madame," I said. It was hopeless!

"Well, no matter. Now, Prissy, we know where we stand. Everything is clear to you, I'm sure. You may now take your leave and fix lunch for me."

What could I do? I curtsied, said "Very well Madame," and went into the kitchen.

 

Chapter Twelve: Prissy and the Poet
(in which our heroine finds it advantageous to
be the heroine of her own story)

During the next few days the household routine settled in as Bea required. With modern materials and appliances, washing and cleaning for the two of us wasn't arduous. I did spend a lot of time ironing. In fact, most of my time between afternoon coffee and dinner was filled with it. Bea allowed me to wear flat shoes with my morning attire. But all through the afternoon and evening I had to wear shoes with at least four inch heels, and I was glad that I had a kind of a bar-stool to sit on while ironing.

My time off after lunch turned out to be not a rest-period after all, but time Bea reserved for me to help her with Nicolai Voloshov's impending visit. The meeting would be held at a local hotel, and attendance was expected to be several hundred people. It would begin around 4:00 pm on Sunday afternoon with various introductions, then continue with the reading and questions, which would last to about 6:00 pm, at which time a light supper would be served. This much was for the general public, and for those who had subscribed to the entire season's series of literary events. Then the board of the Literary Society -- all women of consequence -- were invited to meet the guest of honor at a reception to be held at our house beginning at 8:00 pm and extending as long as anyone wished. On the preceding Saturday I would guide the guest of honor around, and bring him to interviews with the local press and TV station. The interviews would be broadcast twice, on Saturday night during the 11:00 pm news, and again at noon on Sunday, when the churchgoers would be back home anticipating their Sunday dinner and wondering how to spend their afternoons in an edifying way. Bea expected the interviews to boost attendance on Sunday afternoon, and even to sell more tickets for the Sunday supper. I had to take care of all the details, such as seeing to the limousine service, and that the guest of honor was properly met at the airport, and shepherding him through his interviews, and overseeing the selection of food for the supper and the organizing of volunteers to serve it, and arranging for proper sound equipment for the reading, and so forth. It kept me really busy.

Friday night the hired limousine picked us up to go to the airport and meet our guest. Bea agreed that my maid's uniforms were inappropriate. I wore instead a rather short flaming red business suit, which showed off my figure and a lot of cleavage. It was one of the suits Pearl had favored, and had insisted I wear without a blouse (and also without panties). Surprisingly, it now fit my much smaller waist, and I realized that Bea had sent it to be altered while I was at the hospital. Bea herself was dressed much more conservatively, also in a business suit, but dark blue, with a high-necked blouse under it.

We had no trouble finding Nicolai. He was an imposing figure, very masculine and masterful, over six feet tall with broad shoulders, looking more like an athlete than a poet, and looking at everyone else with mild interest and amusement. He was in his fifties, but his full head of hair, cut short, gave him a boyish charm. I had seen his picture on the back of a book jacket, but he looked much more handsome in person. I imagined that his effect on the ladies was usually devastating.

He greeted us as if we were old friends. Bea was granted a courtly, continental kiss on the back of her hand. "Of course," he said to her, "The lady who looked deep into my soul, and then wrote those profound comments on my poems. You were too kind. I did not deserve your praise, though I shall always cherish it. Now, who might this charming little lady be?" he asked, looking at me.

"This is Prissy, my maid and assistant. I've asked her to see that you get whatever you may need or want. She'll be your companion and guide during your stay here, and will take you to your various appointments, and bring you back again safely. She's altogether at your service."

"Is she? I am delighted to hear that," said Nicolai, taking my hand but foregoing the kissing of it, since I seemed to be of a lower social caste. "Glad to meet you Prissy."

"Glad to meet you, Sir," I answered, dipping into a little curtsy. I had not intended to, but something in me made me do it. For once, a curtsy seemed altogether appropriate.

He gave me a big smile and patted my cheek. "I am sure we'll get along fine," he said.

He collected his bag and we went to the waiting car. Bea and Nicolai took the back seat and I sat down opposite Nicolai, with my back to the driver. During the whole trip back to the city Nicolai did not take his eyes off me. Bea explained his interview and performance schedules to him, and gave him some papers he put into his brief-case. He used the opportunity to let his hand graze lightly down my calf to the instep. I was not sure, but I thought I detected a slight bulge forming in his pants. Bea seemed not to notice.

We brought Nicolai to his hotel, and I went in to help with the check-in while Bea stayed in the car. When we were done, Nicolai took my hand, pulled me close, and gave me a little kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow morning at 9:30, then, my dear. Good night, Prissy!" He strode toward the elevator, entered it, turned, saw me still watching him, and threw me a brilliant smile. My heart suddenly swelled up in my chest and skipped a beat or two, and then felt marvelous! Flustered, I returned to Bea.

"You seem to have made a conquest already, Prissy," Bea said when I got back into the car and we were driving back home. "Well, we shall see about that later on. I just might have some interests of my own to defend." I assured Bea that I had no desire to make a conquest, certainly not in competition with my Mistress, although it was certain that Nicolai's looks and charm had somehow gotten to me. Bea grinned and said nothing more.

I was at the hotel at 9:30 the next morning, and spent the whole day with Nicolai. We took care of all his appointments, went to lunch, and went sightseeing. When we passed a lady selling flowers, Nicolai insisted on buying me a small bunch of violets, which he pinned to my jacket. Fumbling with the pin, he let the back of the hand that held my jacket slowly graze down across my breast, then rise again across the nipple. His touch excited me, and I held my breath. Then I had difficulty catching it again. He must have seen my arousal in my face, but he said nothing, just completed his gesture across my breast and touched my face, then smiled sweetly. I noticed that then he put his right hand into his trouser pocket and felt for something, failed to find it, and eventually pulled his hand out again.

When I left him at his hotel later in the afternoon, he said goodbye with a light kiss on my lips. I reminded him that Bea would meet him for dinner at 7:30, and I went home.

I changed into my maid's outfit, and at Bea's request brought her a small glass of sherry. When I set it beside her on the end table, Bea asked how the day had gone. I gave her a detailed report, including the violet episode, and the good-bye kiss. I expressed the opinion that it was quite impersonal, that Nicolai was only being instinctively chivalrous, and that he wanted any woman he was with to feel desired.

"Well, he is said to be a lady's man," said Bea. "And it does seem that he tries to live up to his reputation."

Bea took extra care dressing and making-up for dinner. She wore an exquisite dinner gown, which showed her figure to perfection. "I don't think I'll need your services anymore tonight, Prissy," she said as she left the house, "So don't wait up for me." When I heard her return, I was surprised to notice it was only 11:00 pm.

The next morning, Bea came down to the kitchen where I was cooking breakfast, something she had never done before, eager to talk to someone, and filled with accolades. How charming Nicolai was, and how attentive, and how courteous -- she seemed unable to exhaust her praise of him. When I asked her how the evening had ended, she frowned.

"It was most unfortunate, but he got a call from some important people on the west coast, and he said he couldn't put them off, so we had to say goodbye around 11:00 pm."

Somehow I had to smile inwardly. She had said nothing about a good-night-kiss.

I didn't attend the reading or the supper, because I had to prepare the house for the reception afterward. I needed to re-arrange the furniture for the many women who had been invited, set the tables, set up the bar, prepare snacks, bake some cookies to go with the coffee we would serve to hint when it was time to leave, things like that. I was terribly busy all day.

Bea flew in only 20 minutes before the reception guests were due to arrive. "Prissy, quick," she called to me. "I need your help."

I heard her run up the stairs, and followed her. She must have gone to the beauty parlor instead of the supper, because her hair was intricately done up, and her make-up was gorgeous. "Quick, Prissy, give me a sponge bath, and help me change. I'm running terribly late. Celeste just wouldn't finish today."

She slipped out of her dress and rushed to the bathroom. I sponged her off with water to which I added some cologne, then powdered her. I felt a powerful urge to make love to her, my dear wife, whatever our relationship was now. She looked and smelled wonderful. I wondered what would happen if I pulled her to the bed and made passionate love to her. I told her just that, and she smiled, and patted me on the cheek. "What a lovely compliment, dear," she said. "You're very sweet. It's so precious, when you get horny now and again. But we have to hurry. The others will be here in just a few minutes. Be sure you're presentable too!"

She put on the lingerie that I handed her, tap pants and garter belt in a set of pure lavender silk, and no bra at all. I rolled her seamed, black sheer stockings up her legs and fastened them, while she slipped into her dress. It was a bright red silk jersey with big dolman sleeves, high necked in front and with no back at all, and with a narrow skirt that stopped at her knees. She accented her thin waist with a narrow golden leather belt. Then around her neck she put a long, heavy gold chain with a huge medallion that hung low between her breasts and pulled at the jersey between them, draping each one. Her nipples poked out like eraser heads, big and hard. Just as she dabbed perfume on her wrists and behind her ears, I heard cars turning into the drive-way.

I dashed downstairs as fast as I could in my ultra high heels. Just as I reached the front door, the bell rang, and I opened the door and greeted the first guests with a curtsy.

"Won't you please come in? -- may I take your coats, please?" I was altogether hospitable, gracious, and courteous. The ladies were quite nice to me, and handed me their coats while they discussed me with each other. "Well!" said one. "Writing criticism must pay well these days. I didn't know Bea had a maid." As I guided them into the living room and asked if I could bring them a drink or a liqueur, they continued. "And so well trained too." And "She must pay her a fortune." Bea came downstairs and greeted the ladies, and soon all were in animated conversation, while I brought around the hors d'oeuvres and kept their glasses filled.

I too had taken great care with my appearance. I had brushed out my hair and set it, and enhanced my make-up by using some darker eye-shadow and more dramatic eye-liner. My lips glistened. For this special occasion I was wearing my Victorian maid's dress, more a stunning outfit than a uniform. My corset had to be laced extra tight, but for this one evening I was willing to endure the discomfort. "To be beautiful, one must suffer," I told myself. I wanted to look very beautiful when Nicolai arrived, ravishing. I had no idea why. My petticoats rustled, and my high heels forced me to take small, delicate steps whenever I moved. The guests all asked Bea and each other who I was, and I caught many glancing sideways at me, as they tried to look me over closely and yet remain politely distant.

Nicolai came ten minutes later, his timing perfect. I opened the door for him and curtsied. "Welcome, Sir," I said with a large smile. I was delighted, and I'm sure I looked it. I loved seeing him again!

"Hello Prissy dear! I missed you all afternoon."

"I was too busy here, and couldn't make it. I'm truly sorry about that. Really!"

"I believe you, my dear girl," Nicolai said. I took his overcoat, and when I turned around to hang it up, I felt a kiss on my neck. A pleasant shiver passed through me.

Nicolai was greeted with a standing ovation, and immediately went to each of the ladies in turn and kissed each of their hands. Never had a man exuded more charm! Everyone was enraptured! I busied myself as before, and people stopped noticing me. But whenever I stole a glance at him, I saw that he was following my every move with his eyes.

The party went on for about two hours, the coffee and cookies were served, the guests left, and finally the only people remaining were Bea, Nicolai, and me. I went about the room collecting plates, cups, and glasses, and generally putting the kitchen back in order. Bea and Nicolai sat together on the sofa, discussing the two days of his visit.

"Nicolai, you've been just wonderful!," Bea said. "Wonderful! All the ladies loved you, and that includes me. I can't thank you enough. If you were to ask any favor of me, I know there's no way I could refuse you!"

"Oh really, my dear Bea," Nicolai said with sincere gravity, "It has been my pleasure to be with you and your friends, and it was a great honor for me that I was allowed to present my works to you. But if you really mean it, I would love to ask a favor of you."

Bea slid just a little closer to him. "By all means, Nicolai, ask -- anything. Anything at all."

"Well, if you insist! It is this. Could you give your maid the rest of the evening off? I would very much like to take her out now, she has been so helpful during my visit here."

Bea was visibly taken aback. "My MAID? I was thinking more ... well, never mind.... Of course, she is yours for the night. Bonne chance! You already know that Prissy is quite attractive. That's no accident. You will find that she's a very special girl, just full of surprises!" She smiled, and actually seemed to laugh inwardly, as if she just had thought of a great joke.

"Prissy, come here for a moment," she called to the kitchen.

I had overheard this conversation, but had pretended not to as I went about my business. I came in and curtsied nicely to Bea. "At your service, Madame," I said, raising my skirts just a little bit higher than necessary, so my ankles and my petticoats showed. I did it for Nicolai's benefit, of course, and it worked. He gazed fascinated at my instep and ankles, as if they were hidden intimate secrets accidentally revealed. The erotic mystery created by a raised skirt! I was beginning to enjoy my power to invoke it!

"Prissy, I don't need you anymore tonight. Take the rest of the night off, and tomorrow morning too if you need it. Now go and dress nicely. Nicolai has graciously offered to take you out, to thank you for whatever you've done for him. Run along now."

"Well thank you very much, Madame," I said, curtsying again with my skirts raised high, "And thank you, Sir," again curtsying with my skirts raised even higher. Nicolai eyes were about to pop out, and I had a suspicion that something else was in danger of popping too. "I'll be right back! I won't take a minute!" And I rushed upstairs in a whirl of petticoats and skirts, as fast as my high heels would carry me.

I wondered what to wear. Quickly I pulled off my uniform and my cap and went to the bathroom for a quick sponge bath -- no time for a real shower. I cleaned myself inside thoroughly with my douche -- I always felt so very feminine doing that -- and I carefully slathered a lot of cold cream into and around my little hole before I put in my now-customary plug. I selected a larger plug than usual. You never know what you might encounter later, and it's best to be prepared. Some perfume on my wrists and my neck, and in my little bush, and I was ready to get dressed again.

I looked into my closet. Dressing for a date is always do difficult. Should I wear a long skirt or a short one? Wide or tight? What kind of top? I scanned my wardrobe. No long skirt now I decided, Nicolai had seen me all evening in a long skirt. Flared or tight? I didn't intend to wear panty-hose, because stockings are so much sexier, and make for greater accessibility when clothing is in the way. But a tight skirt tends to ride up and show the tops of stockings when sitting down. That's sexy, but sluttish. So maybe now a flared skirt would be better.

I looked and found a black silk dress with a demure neckline and a short flared skirt, reaching only to mid-thigh. It was cut on a bias, so it really hugged and showed off my breasts. Perfect! I put it on and cinched the waist with a red leather belt. I was still constricted by my cruel Victorian corset, but after Nicolai had seen my small waistline, I couldn't suddenly expand there. The dress had short sleeves, puffed a little at the shoulders. It was a really wonderful, really simple little basic black, suitable for anything, the kind every girl has in her closet, because it answers to so many purposes.

Then I put on elbow-length black suede gloves, and a little red hat decorated with a black rose and a black veil, and finished the whole ensemble off with a very short bolero jacket, one with long narrow sleeves made of a shiny material that glistened like vinyl. It hugged and played peekaboo with my breasts whenever I moved. I checked myself in the mirror. My legs and shoes! I was still wearing the four inch black heels I had worn under the long skirt, and a pair of ordinary black stockings. I had to do better. I took out a pair of seamed, ultra sheer black stockings with a demure Swiss dot pattern running through them, and put them on. It wasn't easy, with my gloves already on, but I managed. Then I put on my sexiest heels, bright red patent leather with very slim 5 1/2 inch heels -- Pearl had called them "fuck me pumps," essential in any girl's closet. Well, I was sure that Nicolai would get the message. I checked the mirror again. I was a vision in black and red. A quick dab with a powder puff and I was done. At this moment, I couldn't have been more thankful for Celeste's permanent make-up.

When I came down, Nicolai and Bea were standing and were already saying their goodbyes. Nicolai came over to meet me. "You look wonderful, my dear," he said. It was a polite cliche, meaningless, but the way he said it it seemed to come from his heart, and my heart went out to him. I couldn't say anything. Suddenly I felt terribly vulnerable. I smiled hopefully at him, and he understood, and smiled reassuringly back at me. Then he took my hand and led me out.

I was barely able to say goodbye to Bea. "Have fun, Prissy -- and don't do anything I wouldn't do," she said to me. I was sure I wouldn't! If I understood this situation correctly, Nicolai wanted to do with me exactly what Bea had wanted to do with him. Somehow it filled me with pride that I had beaten Bea to him, and without lifting a finger. He was more attracted to me!

But Bea couldn't have been more gracious. "You can take the BMW," she called, as she saw us walking toward my car. "Thank you," I waved back. She was really in a wonderful mood tonight. I wondered why. I had expected her to be bitchy after I had taken away her date. Perhaps it was because she still felt obligations to a guest who should have whatever he wanted, and if he happened to want me, so be it. Perhaps it was that. But perhaps there was more to it than that.

Nicolai was a perfect gentleman, all poise, and elegant continental charm. He insisted that he drive, and he opened the car door for me. That old joke came to my mind, if you see a man opening a car door for a woman, you can safely bet that either the car is new, or the woman. Tonight I was the woman. I realized that this was my first real date since becoming a girl. I then realized that I was becoming a girl in my mind and desires, not just my appearance and manners, and that for the first time I really liked it.

We drove to a very good but still cozy restaurant, and had an excellent late night dinner. It was a pity that I could hardly eat anything, because of my corset. But we didn't send anything back. Nicolai declared that he had an enormous appetite, looking straight at me, and then ate most of my dinner too. He was in an exceptionally good mood, witty, his chatter spiced with little innuendos complimenting me on my looks, and my personality, and promising unmentionable delights later on, perhaps. He even complimented me on my intellect and wit -- and what woman who already knows she looks smashing doesn't want to hear her intellect praised! I was rapidly losing myself to him, and I wasn't even tipsy. Of course we had wine with dinner, but again, Nicolai drank most of it, because I had no room. My heart seemed to fill my whole body.

After dinner he took me to a piano bar -- Bea must have hinted to him where to go. Again, it was a very cozy place. At first we just talked. A woman came offering roses, and he bought one for me. A few people began dancing to the music, and soon I was in his arms and we were gliding around the floor together. During the slow numbers he pressed me against his chest so tightly that I had trouble breathing. He was so strong! He towered over me, even though I was wearing my highest heels. I laid my cheek against his shoulder, and let him guide me. I felt so safe, surrendered to him like this.

Gradually he slid his hand down to the small of my back, and pressed his hips against mine. Then with his right leg he stepped between my legs, rubbing his thigh gently into my crotch. I felt his massive erection pressing into me, and I did nothing to evade it. We danced, and got hotter with every step. The music ended just in time to prevent one of us from having an accident. I felt quite damp in my crotch, and I am sure he felt the same. I hoped he hadn't noticed that I was bulging too, under my corset, yet I hoped he knew that I was. All flustered, we went back to our table and he ordered another drink. I had to excuse myself, and go to the ladies' room to calm down a little.

I didn't know whether Bea had told Nicolai about my sex. She'd had ample opportunity, but she also had reason to hope Nicolai would discover it as an unpleasant surprise. I had to play it safe. I wanted to have sex with him, more and more with each passing moment, but I was afraid of what would happen if he discovered my secret. I had to find a way to keep him too occupied with himself to really care. A plan was forming in my head, but I had to take the initiative and stay on top of the situation.

When I came back to the table, Nicolai suggested we leave when we had finished our drinks. We listened to the music, each of us caught up in our own thoughts. I was sure his were similar to mine, but neither of us said a word. Nicolai finally waved to the waitress and paid, and we left, clinging together, our arms wrapped around each other.

He drove to his hotel. "Would you care to come in for a night-cap?" he asked. Again, an old cliche that sounded like a brand new idea as he spoke it. I was glad he didn't offer to read me some of his poems. But poetry was on neither of our minds at the moment.

Of course I accepted, trying not to sound too eager. We crossed the lobby heading straight for the elevator, and passed the desk before the night-clerk had time even to look up from his comic-book. The elevator doors had hardly closed when he took me in his arms and kissed me -- hard and deep. His tongue played with mine as if it were a lollipop. I was now a lost soul, drowning in my aroused feelings for him, unable even to stand up. I pressed close, and clung to him, and kissed him back passionately. With all the fervor that was in me! He was wonderful, and I wanted him! Now, at once!

I couldn't get into the room fast enough, and I pushed him in, pushed him to a sofa, and made him sit down. I kneeled in front of him, fumbled with his zipper, finally got it down, and pried his huge cock free of his jockey-shorts. Oooohhh! For a moment I just looked at it, overjoyed! I stroked it a few times with my gloved hands, and it seemed to send shivers through him. He laid back, moaning, with his eyes closed. I played with his balls, and stroked his shaft, by now swollen almost bursting. The soft suede leather of my gloves pushed him to sheer ecstasy. I took the tip of his cock into my mouth, licking the gleaming surface slowly with my tongue. He started to move his hips, trying to push deeper into my mouth. But I leaned back a little -- it was too early for that. I sucked a little, and let my teeth graze over its surface, and licked him some more.

I had to steel myself. I didn't dare drown in the erotic maelstrom that I had created. I had to keep a clear head. I had to prepare him for the big surprise.

"Nicolai, darling." I continued playing with his cock and balls. "I have to tell you something," I went back to sucking a little. "You know, I am a woman, your woman now, and I have never been more of a woman than I am at this moment (Lick). But I cannot serve you like a true woman. I can only offer you my mouth and my derriere." (Suck) I intensified my ministrations to his cock, which seemed to grow even bigger, if that were possible. (Lick).

"I don't care what you cannot do, my darling, my very own darling, all I care is that you don't stop -- please," he moaned with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. (Lick)

"You see my darling Nicolai," I continued, trying not to listen to myself, so I could get it said before my courage failed me, "I am a woman, (Suck, Lick) but originally I was a man."

There I had said it. I timed it so that at that same moment I could feel his orgasm begin. I sank his large cock into my mouth as far as I could, taking it all in, and sucking from it all the jism he began to spurt, and then continued to spurt, over and over. His release from the tension he had built up was so immense that he slumped over like an automobile tire somebody has stabbed with a knife. He wasn't able to say anything for several minutes. I never stopped stroking and licking his tool, and it never went completely limp. I waited.

After quite some time, what I had said seemed to register with him. "What did you just say?" he asked, whispering hoarsely. "You were originally a man? Say it again! I can't believe it!"

I repeated what I had said earlier, word for word.

"Really and honestly? You are not pulling my leg?"

I was pulling something very different at that moment, which didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, it was growing again. I kissed it tenderly, as a mother might kiss a baby while tucking it in for the night. But this baby was already an adolescent, and even as I watched, it again became a full-grown man, tall and straight, a bit heavy-set, but in great shape.

"Honest and true," I said, now fairly sure I would survive my revelation to him. I wished at that moment I had been born a woman, but I hadn't been, and hadn't had the surgery to approximate it, and Nicolai would soon have discovered this anyway. I hoped our evening together was not now at an end.

"Whatever you are, tonight you are my woman," he said, "And you have just given me the best blow-job I ever received."

Tears sprang to my eyes! I couldn't help myself! I felt suddenly grateful to Tom, Dick, and Harry, and to all of Pearl's clients, my school for sucking. I raised myself from the floor and snuggled up next to him. "Oh, Nicolai," I said, trying not to sob, "Nicolai, you are the most wonderful man in the world!" Then I broke down. I cried and cried for joy, and covered him with kisses and tears, and couldn't kiss him deeply enough!

He seemed pleased, and tried to comfort me, but he realized that he had to let my profound feeling for him run its course, and he just waited, a satisfied smile on his face, as I continued to kiss him. As I regained control over myself I began to run my hands over his body. Then I started to undress him, to make him wriggle out of his jacket, then his shirt, and then his trousers and shorts, and then I pulled off his shoes and socks. Now my beloved man was naked, and I could kiss him anywhere. I hardly knew where to begin!

He got up, and made me stand up too. "Now you," he said. "Take off your clothes -- slowly please."

He was not at all embarrassed to be standing before me totally naked, his glorious staff angled upward in proud salute, while I was still fully dressed, and even still had on my little red hat with the black veil. To my eyes he was ravishingly beautiful! And I had never felt prettier!

I stepped back from him a few paces, fixed my eyes on him, and started to give him a strip-tease. First my hat. I slowly unpinned it and set it aside, knowing that a woman with both hands raised to her head looks as vulnerable and seductive as she feels, her breasts seeming fully exposed even when they are covered, as mine were, by many layers of fabric. Always looking into his eyes and smiling slightly, I removed my belt, bolero, dress, and slip, one item after another, slowly, as carefully as I had selected them earlier that evening, playing with them, tossing them at him with teasing flips of my wrist, until I had on only my corset, panties, stockings, shoes, and -- for a specially erotic effect --my long gloves. I waved him closer, and gestured that he should remove my panties. He came to me and sank to his knees. He put his fingers into the lacy elastic confection of their waistband, and slowly pulled them down. My own cock sprang up as soon as it was released, almost directly into his mouth.

And he took it into his mouth! He started to lick and suck it, just as I had licked and sucked his. I had been feeling so much affection and gratitude for him, but now I began to feel something else as well, and my breathing grew faster and heavier.

After a little while he let it go and stood up. When he saw the disappointed expression on my face, he laughed, and put his palm on my cheek. "No, my dear, don't worry. The night is still very young. I have licked a lot of pussies in my time, but never one with a clit this size," he said. "Now we must make ourselves more comfortable, so we can devote ourselves completely to each other."

He gathered me up and carried me over to the bed, where he put me down gently. Then he lay down next to me in a 69 position, rubbed his body into mine, and began to lick and suck me as before. I pulled his stiff cock into my mouth, and for a while only the sounds of slurping and kissing filled the room. While he was embracing my clit with his lips, I felt him play with my butt-plug, moving it in and out very slowly as if to test my reaction. I tried to move with his thrusts, urging him on.

Suddenly he pulled out the plug, disentangled himself, and turned around, facing me. He put my legs over his shoulders and pressed his cock against my anus. I gave a happy cry, and wrapped my arms around his dear, dear head, and thrust myself at him. I was only too eager to have him sink deep into me, and in spite of his cock's enormous size he entered without any real pain. Then he fucked me, and I was in total bliss, feeling every inch of his cock in me while mine was being pressed and caressed in the same rhythm by our two bodies. It took only minutes until I felt him spurting deep inside me, so deliciously that I spurted my load and we both collapsed. So this is what a woman feels when she has been royally fucked by a Prince, I thought to myself. Not the way I felt when those men in Pearl's office used me, but this. This! I kissed my Prince gently on each eyelid, and we rested for a short time. Then I went to the bathroom to clean myself.

The rest of the night was spent as it had begun. At one point Nicolai insisted that I remove my corset, and he was delighted to find that I had a genuinely thin waist and real breasts! He kissed his way around my waist, from my navel back to my navel, and then he went up to kiss my nipples, his eyes shut. When his lips found my nipple rings he opened them, and I worried that he might find those piercings perverse. But all he said was, "Charming! Beautiful! Like two wedding rings!" And he took one gently in his teeth and tugged slightly, and I shrieked in sheer joy, overwhelmed, in a paroxysm of bliss! For the rest of the night, whatever else we did, play with my nipples was part of it. We tried everything, and the better things two or three times, until we were totally pooped. Finished. Utterly spent. Wiped out. We lay wrapped up in each other, dead asleep, stirring in dim, happy awareness of each other only when the other stirred.

When the wake-up call came at 8:00 am, the phone must have rung for at least a whole minute before one of us was awake enough to answer it. Then, unfortunately, we had to hurry, because his plane was leaving before too much longer. We rushed through breakfast, then got dressed. Nicolai took great pleasure in lacing me into my corset again, and would not let me put on my dress until he had once again pacified his raging hard-on in my ass -- which felt a little sore after all the action it had seen during the night, but welcomed him anyhow, and all my heart as well. He seemed to take a special delight in putting back my butt-plug while his most recent cum was still deep inside me. "Now I will be a part of you intimately for a little while longer," he said. "In your sweet body, not merely in your memories." He was such a dear! I kissed him yet again!

We had to rush to the airport -- this time I drove, and we barely made it in time. Saying goodbye in the car, he held me by both shoulders and looked into my face, while I looked into his. "Prissy," he said, "Whatever you really are, and whatever you wish to be, last night to me you were the most wonderful woman I could imagine. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this night of my life for the world. You are lovely. Tell Bea I envy her."

He gave me a last kiss, collected his bag, and ran off, turning at the door to throw one more kiss at me. I felt -- I cannot describe it -- like floating three feet off the ground. I started the car and turned to go home.

Chapter Thirteen: Prissy and Steve
(in which our heroine learns again that
she is a woman with no desire to be liberated)

When I got home, I was afraid that Bea would be angry. Though she had given me permission, I had not been there to make breakfast for her. And I had kept her car when she might have wanted to go out early on some errand. But most of all, I had probably spoiled her hopes for a romantic evening with a magnificent poet by accepting Nicolai's invitation. I cautiously stole into the house, avoiding any noise, and rushed upstairs. I didn't see Bea. She must have been in her office, working. I changed quickly into my pink morning uniform -- this morning I just had to wear pink -- and went down to the kitchen. Bea had left her breakfast dishes on the table. She must have heard the noise of my loading the dishwasher, because suddenly there she stood in the doorway, looking at me as I moved around to set things straight.

"Well, had a nice night, Prissy? I see you are walking differently this morning. Feel a little sore? Well, most women feel like that after a night with a really superb lover -- we all wish it were something we could get used to, though we never do get enough of it. Congratulations! Nicolai is known to be a great lover. You've made a real conquest."

Through this whole speech her face was impassive, studying mine, revealing nothing. She left the kitchen, and a minute later called me from the living-room. "Prissy, come here, would you? We have to talk."

Well, here it comes I thought. I went in with a really guilt-ridden expression on my face. "Madame wishes?" I said, and I curtsied as low as I could under the circumstances. I didn't want to anger her further.

"Sit down Prissy," was all she said.

Was it really so bad that I wouldn't be able to take it standing up? I sat down on the edge of the chair opposite her, my head hanging low, avoiding her eyes.

"Prissy, let me ask you something. Last night, when you accepted Nicolai's invitation to go out, did you want to go out with him?"

"Oh yes, Madame!" I replied, not daring to raise my eyes.

"And when you were dressing for your date, did you want to make yourself as attractive as possible for him, as feminine as possible?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Did you want him to make love to you? Were you thinking about it even before the two of you left the house?"

I felt so ashamed. "Yes, Madame," was all I could reply, in truth.

"Now just three more questions, my dear." She sounded as if she meant to be kind! I looked up for a moment, then cast my eyes back down again. "When you left the house, did you wish that you really were a woman, so you could love him as only a woman can?"

"Yes, Madame."

"I won't ask if you did make love. That's obvious, and anyhow, a lady never confesses such things. When you were making love, did you feel like a real woman? Never mind how some real woman might have felt in your place. Did he make you feel you were real, a true woman loving and being loved, and not just a feminized man?"

"Ohh, yes Madame. Yes. He did."

"Last question, Prissy. Consider your answer carefully. Now, at this moment, holding in mind everything you have felt since you left here yesterday evening, would you rather be a woman or a man?"

I burst into tears again. "Oh, Madame, a woman! The joy of it! I so much prefer being a woman! I do! I do!" I choked back a sob, and tried to regain control over myself.

I was astonished at what I had just said! Up until now, I had been playing at looking and acting like a woman, even feeling like one, to please Bea, or to pleasure Steve or myself, or to satisfy curiosity, and mostly because Bea had backed me into corners, and to get out of them I had to go along with her. But now I really did want it for myself. To look like a woman, and act like one, to be one, to feel more of what I had felt from that first day when we picked Nicolai up at the airport, to feel more of what I had felt with him all of last night! I loved being a woman!

"And so you are, Prissy," Bea said to me, gently. I realized that her catechism had not been designed to shame me for stealing her man from her, as I had thought. It was to bring me to realize what it meant, that for the first time I done and felt what women do, without any self-consciousness or regret. That for a time there had been no trace of Henry in me at all. "So you now are," she repeated, her voice growing kind, genuinely affectionate, "And so you shall be, my dear, for the rest of your life. I mean to see that you get your wish."

I lifted up my eyes, and looked at her. I didn't know what to think. Had she trapped me again? Did I like that idea or not? The implications were enormous. It was like being re-born. I wasn't sure I had liked it the first time. Bea had been leaning forward to project each of her questions at me with point and force, but now she leaned back onto the sofa cushions, relaxed, and began to speak freely.

"Prissy, I have been waiting for this moment for a long time. On the morning after my birthday celebration, I told you some of the reasons why I had taken a full year, with some trickery I'll confess it, to change Henry into Honey. Steve told you some other things about what I was doing to you deliberately, though even Steve doesn't know the whole story. What it comes to is this. I want you to be a woman. I want you to be a woman of a particular kind, but never mind that for now. You had so little zest for life as Henry, that I was sure you would enjoy yourself more as Honey, and I proved correct. Certainly as Honey, Steve's paramour. Not as Honey, Pearl's company slut, though I'm sure that had it's moments. And I'm sure the experience you gained during that month of fucking men indiscriminately was invaluable preparation for last night. Am I wrong?"

I nodded, not knowing what I meant. But Bea understood.

"I wanted you to enjoy yourself last night, as Prissy, as a pretend girl become a real girl, Bea's maid, enjoying real forbidden fruit."

I nodded again. Bea had nearly lost me. She sensed this.

"Prissy, during the last days, and mostly last night, you took a giant step further into permanent womanhood. Do you realize that for the first time you went into competition with a real woman for the attention of a man? Do you realize that you were pleased to draw a man's attention and avert it from all the other women around? That you successfully seduced a man to take you as a lover -- a man who did not know your little secret, but thought you were as much a woman as I am? More of a woman?"

"You know your affair with Steve was nothing like this. Steve knew who and what you were, and enjoyed you whatever you were, because he's bisexual anyhow, and anyhow I asked him to initiate you. You could never be sure what part of you he found most attractive. Working for Pearl, all of the sex you had was thrust at you as part of the job. It had little or nothing to do with desire, or love. You could always tell yourself that there was nothing you could do but go along with it, endure it. Again, you didn't really act like a woman out of your own choice. Or rather, you acted like a woman, but it was only acting."

"But with Nicolai it was different. You knew I was romantically interested in him. And you proved more attractive. In effect you took me up at the game of seducing an attractive man, and you won. The better woman won. You got him, and you spent the night with him. And now you know something about yourself you might never have known, if it had been only Steve, or those contractors Pearl bought with your body. And I don't mind at all, Prissy. In fact, I think it's wonderful!"

"Let me let you in on a secret. I wasn't really in the game at all. I led Nicolai on, a little, I showed interest, to flatter his ego, and because that's what he expects of women literary critics. But he's an old hand. He knew he'd never be able to get me to bed. If he'd asked me out last night, he knew all he'd get was talk about his last collection of poems and a good-night-kiss on his cheek. You're new to all this, so you can't yet read all the signals I sent him, that he should keep his pecker in his pants when he's around me. I agree, he is a very interesting man and if the circumstances were different, I might have given him a fling. But I'm a professional, a serious literary critic -- I can't run around bedding everyone who publishes a book and gets a reputation for sleeping with the women who review it. But I had to put on a show for you, to be sure you knew that Nicolai was not only desirable, he was available, and that your mistress was angling for him. It crossed your mind that you could put out for him yourself, maybe beat me at my own game. Or maybe it didn't cross your mind, but something feminine within you rose up and told you that you wanted to go to bed with him. And so you did, Prissy. So you did. I was hoping this would happen! I was so hoping! And it did. And now you know, deep within yourself, how it feels to be a woman. And that deep within, you are a woman. And that a woman is what you want to be."

"As I said, this was a giant step forward for you. I just wanted to be sure you know it, and know that I know. I don't think you can escape it any more. I think it's time now that you put yourself completely into my hands. Think about it."

"Now run along and fix lunch."

She got up and came over to me, and as she spoke these last words she patted me lightly on my cheek and went to her office, not looking back, never expecting an answer from me. It was just as well. I was dazed. As usual. she was way ahead of me. I was unable to debate her. It was too complicated.

I brought a small luncheon plate into the dining room and informed Bea that her lunch was served. When later I brought in her coffee, she was reading a book as she ate, and didn't even look up. I backed away, curtsied, turned, and left the room. Obviously I was no longer on her mind.

As I was just finishing my own lunch she came into the kitchen. I scrambled to rise and curtsy to her once again, respectfully, but again she seemed not to trouble noticing. "It occurred to me", she said, "that you may not know. A year ago I was offered a guest lectureship at my old alma mater, requiring I remain in residence there for two months. Your conditioning as one of the girls had scarcely begun, so I put off accepting it. But a week or so ago, when you agreed to have your face and figure reshaped, your progress seemed irreversible enough for me to risk leaving you. So I accepted the invitation. It's quite an honor. I'll be away for two months, beginning this weekend."

I was astonished. I knew nothing of this. My mouth hung open. Bea paused, and seemed to be waiting for something. I remembered, and curtsied. "Yes, madame," I said.

But my mind raced ahead of itself. Two months to find out what kind of a girl I really wanted to be! Not just a servant with permission to date repairmen or other domestics on my days off, but what I was, an educated woman with a mind of my own! That is, if I really wanted to be a woman. It crossed my mind I could also try out life as a man again, to see if I'd rejected it too hastily when Bea was interrogating me. I was still glowing from my night with Nicolai. But it couldn't hurt. I'd need make-up to cover my permanent make-up, of course, and I'd have to wear looser clothing, and a man's wig. It would be a lot of bother, trying to pass as a man, but it could be done. Perhaps I owed it to myself to try.

No chance. "I've asked Steve over to keep you company, Prissy," Bea went on. "Kay says she doesn't mind at all -- she'll just ask a swinging couple she knows to keep her company. It won't do for you to be alone. But you two can play at being husband and wife while I'm gone. Steve still has a few more things to teach you."

Was she mocking me a little, reminding me that I was no longer a real husband even in my own house? I set that thought aside. I loved having Steve around, proposing games for us to play. And two whole months without being Bea's maid seemed like an endless vacation. She was a rather strict and exacting mistress, as I had reason to know. The weekend couldn't come fast enough.

Five minutes after I came back from delivering Bea at the airport Friday morning, Steve was at the door, in a wonderfully sprightly mood. "Hi, Prissy, how are you this fine morning?," he almost sang at me. "Ready for a few games?"

I looked at him with a big question-mark all over my face. Games? He took my shoulders and pulled me over to him and kissed me, lightly on the lips at first, then long, and hard, and deep, and passionate, and I started to feel warm. I could feel his cock growing and pushing into me, and when finally he broke his embrace I was all hot and flustered.

"Games," he said. "Role playing games. 'Husband' and 'wife' of course -- that's what Bea suggested. But also other roles, and acting out other situations, like 'Lord of The Manor And the Upstairs Maid' or 'The Pirate and the Princess' or 'Sir Dystic D'Arcy and Sweet Gwendoline.' Those are all scenarios for bondage games. Look, I'll show you."

He went to his bag and pulled out an illustrated book showing a blonde beauty on the cover, tightly gagged and tied to a tree. "Here," he said and gave me the book. "Take a look. These are by John Willie, still one of the best artists ever to draw bondage pictures. Everything he shows, real people can actually do. He often tied up his models in different ways and then drew them from life."

I started leafing through the book, looking at pictures of women tied up in the most extravagantly helpless positions. It gave me a funny feeling imagining myself those ways.

Steve picked up on this right away. "A little disturbing, and a little exciting, right? Well, let me tell you, what you are looking at is beyond belief. Incredible to experience. Why? You won't believe me, but this woman in these drawings knows that total enslavement is total freedom. No? Look here!"

Steve pointed at pictures from 'Gwendoline and The Missing Princess.' "You see," he said, "Gwendoline likes to be tied up. She provokes her friend U69 to tie her, always under the pretense that she needs to learn how to escape. Then U69 does things to her, and she's helpless, and has to endure them, because she never does manage to escape."

"It's a game." Steve looked at me with a wry smile, because he saw I couldn't take my eyes off some of the pictures. "Actually, Gwen is giving herself to U69 in a way that relieves her of all responsibility for what happens. She wants to do outrageous things, and she doesn't want to do them. But when she's helpless and unable to resist, U69 can force her to do them. Then she's not responsible. Then she can give in to her feelings, and do things she'd normally never do. See, here she is tied tightly, offering U69 cords to tie her even more tightly."

I had never looked at bondage this way, but it seemed to be true. It was a power game, Gwendoline yielding up her will to escape from the prison of her inhibitions. The idea was strangely thrilling.

"Come one, let's try it. You be Sweet Gwendoline, and I'll tie you, and when you're utterly helpless, well, we'll see. Take off your dress, darling."

I was reluctant at first. Of course I knew Steve would never really hurt me, but one never knew for certain. I had to have absolute trust, and surrender myself to him completely. My common sense told me not to. Against this better judgement I got up, pulled off my dress, and did whatever he asked of me.

That week-end I spent tied up in every conceivable way, my most vulnerable parts exposed to Steve's least whim. We had the most fantastic sex ever. Giving up all self-control brought a whole new dimension to our love-making. I was totally his, body and soul, his love-slave. I adored every moment. He and Bea had both tied my wrists behind me to keep me corseted and skirted whatever I might wish, and I had not found my submission to them altogether unpleasant. But this was fantastic, another world altogether. As a slave, I submitted to him absolutely.

Otherwise Steve became my husband, and behaved like one. He moved right into the master bedroom, as before, but this time he let me sleep there too. I soon became his loving wife, just as Bea had predicted. I don't know whether I ever had a choice, or could have objected. I didn't. I loved it. Steve was always an attentive husband. When he came home from work each evening, he usually brought me something, often flowers, which I just loved, or a chocolate confection, or a piece of costume jewelry. He was so very gallant. I did my best to make him feel comfortable in what was now his home too. I tried to be perfect for him, always pretty, the house always neat with fresh charming touches, dinner always nearly ready, and a drink waiting for him when he came home. Life with him was quite different from life with Bea. To Bea I was a servant merely, an employee, and only rarely did she call on me for intimate services. And when I did make love to her, it was not as a husband but as a chambermaid expected to do her bidding. Now Steve and I were actually living as husband and wife, and I was always the wife. It somehow seemed to be my conjugal duty.

It was an old fashioned marriage, with Steve the head of our household, and me a devoted housewife and lover. He took the lead, and I followed him. When I didn't, he found ways to punish me during our bondage games. Yet most of the times even my punishments led to wonderful love-making -- even being spanked usually made me feel very hot, and when he released me still in tears, I would jump him and start kissing, licking and sucking him as soon as I could reach him.

We had wonderful shopping sprees. When I shopped with Bea, Bea always selected whatever it was I tried on bought, as if I were a child. With Bea, I did what I was told. With Steve it seemed quite different. He made me select the things that I liked, and I would try them on, and then ask his opinion. He would tell me whether or not it was becoming. He had excellent taste. If he didn't like something I would usually agree, and I gave in even when I disagreed, because I wanted to please him. I was dressing for his approval, anyhow, so why not?

He preferred very feminine things. We bought lovely dresses that displayed glimpses of my bosom -- always in good taste, of course, and dresses that accented my slim waist or my long legs. I loved long and voluminous skirts, and so did he, and skirts with rustling petticoats with scalloped embroidered edges, and skirts that were narrow and tight, slit from the ankles nearly to the hip. Worn with a lacy elastic band to hold sheer nylons high on the thighs, they looked very erotic. We bought tops with high stand-up collars so form-fit around my breasts they looked sprayed on, and tops with big balloon sleeves, and necklines so plunging that my breasts and my modesty were at risk, and others with no back at all. And of course we bought shoes for every outfit, always very high-heeled. There was a store that specialized in heels of five inches and higher, and we depleted its stock. I loved seeing my feet in them, so elegant yet so sexy! I was now quite accustomed to walking in heels that high, and I wore lower only when doing house-work, when Steve was not at home.

Usually I cooked dinner for us, but I always dressed my best for Steve even when we ate at home. I was eager to wear all those wonderful things we had bought. Often I set the dining-room table with our best china, and decorated it with flowers and candles to create a romantic atmosphere. Steve joined in the festive spirit, and always came down wearing a jacket and tie. When I called him to dinner, he joined me in the living-room, greeted me with a kiss on my hand and led me to the table. He was such a gentleman! Sometimes I played a different role, and pretended to be the servant of a lofty aristocrat, and served my Lord attired very formally in a dressy uniform with starched petticoats, and a small lace apron with streamers tied behind me in a very big bow, which bobbed above my derriere with every step. And of course I wore a cute little maid's cap. I curtsied at every opportunity, saying "Very well, Milord" or "Will there be anything else I can do for you, Sir?"

It was quite different from being Bea's maid, far more enjoyable for both of us, and I had visible proof that Steve enjoyed it. Whether I was led to the table as an elegant lady, or stood behind his chair as his servant, just after the last course Steve always became a Lord having his way with his maid, and ravished me.

We continued our bondage games each weekend. I usually spent Saturdays and Sundays restrained one way or the other, all day and all night. Steve pushed me deeper and deeper into submission to his will. He devised ways of tying me up under my clothes, and took me to the movies, or to a museum in broad daylight, and then to a restaurant, where he fed me. My arms were often strapped to my body under a loose cape that scarcely reached my crotch, and my black tights and high heels showed exposed beneath it. I felt so deliciously helpless! I must have looked quite sexy, because many men stared at me intently. My arms were hidden, but I was thrilled that many suspected I was tightly bound.

When Bea had been gone for about a month, Steve asked if I would come slave for him at his place of business. It seemed an odd but delightful way for him to ask me to help out, so I replied at once, "Your wish is my command, Master!." He smiled at me. The next morning, I made myself pretty in a red and white checkered cotton blouse with puffed sleeves and an off-the-shoulder neckline, and a wide knee-length skirt with its own crinoline petticoat, red high heeled shoes, and my hair tied back with a red satin band with a large bow on top. After breakfast, me looking fresh as a daisy, off we went. We drove to the trade district of the city, and stopped in a side street in front of a smallish single-story brick building. We entered through a series of studios or workshops, and went straight to the back rooms where Steve showed me his office. I couldn't make out what Steve manufactured and sold here, and I asked him.

"I thought you knew, you silly girl. Bondage gear! I make all sorts of wrist and elbow cuffs, harnesses, gags, helmets, slave collars, whatever your heart desires. They're made from all of the materials you can imagine, too, leather, steel, even carbon reinforced plastic, the latest in space technology, stronger than steel and yet much lighter. I do my own designs and make things to order, but I also sell mass produced stuff from other manufacturers. Here, come along to the show-room."

He took me to the front of the building and led me through a door into pitch darkness. Then he flipped a switch, and the whole scene was illuminated like a stage. There on display were a dozen or more mannequins, most of them female, wearing all kinds of shackles, fetters, hobbles, and cuffs on every part of their bodies, and every conceivable kind of gag from simple ball gags with straps passing through them to huge dildoes attached to intricate head-harnesses. Now it became clear to me why he knew so much about bondage, and where he had gotten those toys we had been playing with.

I looked around, and couldn't help but imagine how I would feel wearing this stuff. It got me quite hot. The previous week-end in bondage had taught me to love the thrill of feeling completely helpless, yielding my freedom and my will altogether to someone I loved and trusted. I felt my panties getting quite tight.

"Come over here, Prissy," said Steve. "This one I like best of all." He brought me over to the far end and flipped another switch. A few spotlights lit up the figure of a girl harnessed to a sulky, as if she were a horse hitched up for a trotting race. "That's my pony girl costume. You like it?" I didn't want to let on how thrilled I was to imagine myself as this girl. Her arms were fastened high behind her to gleaming leather straps running from a belt over her shoulders criss-crossed between her breasts to the belt in front. Another strap ran under her crotch, to keep her belt from riding up. Her breasts were naked, but contained in a complicated network of straps that supported them. Most thrilling was her bridle and bit, with reins attached that led to the carriage. She was entirely at the mercy of the sulky driver. A wonderful predicament, helpless, powerfully driven, magnificent!

I tried to be noncommittal. "Yes, it looks very interesting," I said, but my hoarse tone gave away my excitement.

"I thought you would like it. I you wish, I'll make one for you."

"Oh no, by no means, not for me. Where would I wear it?" When I said that, I realized I had practically said that I would love to wear it if I only knew only where. I could have bitten my tongue. But Steve seemed not to notice, and we went back to the office.

He then showed me what he wanted me to do. His computer had gone down and many entries had backed up, and now that it was functioning again they needed to be entered properly, back-dated There was a lot to do, though it was easy work. I sat down in front of the computer and switched it on. "Just so you don't wander off and hurt yourself with dangerous tools, or at a punching machine, I'll put this on you," Steve said in a considerate tone of voice. He came up from behind me, and before I could react he closed a collar around my neck with a sharp click. I turned and saw a chain stretching from my collar to the nearby wall, long enough to let me move around the office, but too short to allow me to leave. "To work now, my little slave," Steve said cheerfully, as he left the office. I had no choice but to stay there and begin doing what he had asked me to do.

He kept me there all day long. He came in to look at me a few times, and brought me a sandwich and a soda at lunch-time, and let me got to the toilet when I needed to go, but he didn't remove the collar and chain. That night, he unlocked the chain from the collar and substituted a leash. Then he put elbow cuffs on my arms and connected them with a very short chain. I could use my hands for many things, but was unable to reach my mouth, which he filled with a simple ball gag. When I saw he wanted us to leave, I resisted as well as I could, because he clearly meant for me to walk outside cuffed, gagged, and leashed, and I couldn't! But my resistance was easily overcome, and I found myself walking as fast as I could toward the car, where I stood while he took his time locking up his shop and checking every lock twice. Finally he unlocked his car, and I was relieved to duck inside without anybody seeing me.

From then on, I worked for Steve during the day, tried to be his wife evenings and at all hours of the night, and served him as his submissive slave in our weekend domination games. This became our routine. But I not only computerized his paperwork, he often used me as a model when trying out new designs. He would make various kinds of gear and ask me how they felt, if they were uncomfortable immediately or only after a longer period of time, and how uncomfortable -- enough for punishment, or enough to reward someone who liked punishment? I stayed bound for most of my time at work. We were scrupulous in our testing procedures, especially when testing a submissive's availability for sex with different combinations of straps, belts, and chains. So I usually fucked and sucked Steve's cock several times a day while wearing different arrays. I must say, I never imagined that product testing could be so pleasant. And since the test gear was all made to my measure and to be discarded if I didn't approve it, I ended up with a lot of unusual things for tying men and women up, into, and around each other..

Being bound by Steve always thrilled me. Giving myself to him was always exciting. With every strap he put on me this excitement grew, until by the end of the day I wanted to grab him and pull him to bed. But I couldn't until he chose to release me, most of the time only after we were home. Sometimes he kept me restrained through the night and all through our love-making. I came to love being 'forced' to do things that he wanted me to do, and at those times I experienced the strongest and most fulfilling orgasms I had ever had. Sex by my own desires began to seem tame by comparison. At night I dreamed I was being raped, repeatedly, by an army of gentle and considerate Steves. Awake or asleep, I was happy.

Being bound most of the time did not allow me to cook dinners like those of our first month playing house. Most of the time, as the old joke goes, all I could make for dinner was reservations at nearby restaurants. When we went out, Steve used the occasion to test even more of his inventory on me, his various hidden bondage devices. It was terribly embarrassing, but I must say, it was also terribly thrilling.

Looking back at these two months with Steve, I can see now that these games and practices destroyed most of my residual masculinity. I had already decided that being loved as a woman was glorious, preferable to being loving as a man. Even so, the back of my mind always registered a sense of shame, because despite all I was a man, and men do not enjoy being submissive. So I believed. But being 'forced' to make love as a slave girl gave me an excuse. I was unable to object to what was being done to me, and gradually the little masculine voice within me became higher pitched, then disappeared, and my feeling of guilt with it.

My birthday came near the end of this time I spent with Steve. He saw to it that I was showered with presents. There were several boxes almost like jewel boxes. When I opened them, I found collars, bracelets, anklets, cuffs, necklaces, and other beautiful jewelry whose prime purpose, I realized, was to restrain me. I was right. He took everything out and put it on me. They all locked, and could only be opened with one key. Everything fit closely, and was made of golden metal links similar to those of the bands of expensive watches. But more. They all could be linked together with special clamps, cuffs to collars or necklaces or whatever, by catches they all had disguised among the links. Steve showed me how much more comfortable these articles were than ordinary handcuffs. If my wrists were connected with these bracelets, I could lie down comfortably or sit in a car without actually feeling either the bracelets or their connecting clamp, pleased to be wearing expensive jewelry.

(continued in Chapter Fourteen)


(c) 1996 by Vickie Tern and Rhonda Wagram

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